


I'll Fly Away

by juliusschmidt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Bisexual Character, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Growing Up, Kink Exploration, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 122,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not; Harry went to Chicago where he found a boyfriend and couple of college degrees. Six years later, Harry ends up back in Edwardsville for the summer and he and Louis fall into old patterns and discover new ones.</p><p>ft. One Direction, the local boyband; Horan’s Bar and Grill; families, most especially children and babies; Officer Liam Payne; many local festivals and fireworks displays; and Anne Cox, PFLAG President.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: April 2009

**Author's Note:**

> This story is finished and will be updated every Sunday, with the possible exception of the Sunday between Christmas and New Years’. It’s ~110K in total, so strap in. 
> 
> General Warnings: homophobia, internalized homophobia, misogyny, alcohol, smoking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery chapter specific warnings in the endnotes.

Louis checks his rearview mirror as he backs out of his driveway. People rarely come down the dirt road in front of the Farmhouse, but when they do, they’re usually driving really _fucking_ fast.

Lottie’s left the goats out and Louis rolls down his window to shout obscenities at them as he passes. They bray back happily. Harry insists that they are smarter than they seem; he’s wrong.

Louis’ cell phone buzzes with a call. And then a voicemail. And then another call. And then another voicemail. It’s his mom, he’s sure. She lectures him about being on the phone while driving, but then she does shit like this when she _knows_ he’s on the road.

He’s trying to teach her to text, but she doesn’t have the right plan so each message costs extra. On top of which, she hates the concept. She says, “When I want to speak to you, I want to _speak_ to you, Louis.”

He considers not listening to her messages. This is supposed to be his night out. He’s been taking care of the girls for her and Mark _a lot_ lately. But by the time he’s pulling up outside Harry’s parents’ little bungalow, he’s curious.

The first message is long. “ _Hi honey, I wish you would answer your phone. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to need your help on the farm tomorrow after all, so please don’t stay out late. I’m off so we can both get-.”_

The voicemail beeps, cutting her off.

Louis glares at the phone. He’d been very clear with her. His plan has been to let Mark and Lottie do the bulk of the work around the farm this season so he can take summer classes and do well in them. He needs to load up as many credits as possible at the community college to save money. The schools Harry’s chosen for them in Chicago are hella expensive.

Anyway, once he and Harry get out of here, he isn’t planning on coming back. His family needs to figure out how to run the place without him.

He’s too angry to listen to her second message right away so he gathers up the random One Direction shit he’s got in the cab of the truck, his suspenders, a glittery top hat he found in the basement that he thinks Harry might like, and Zayn’s fake-ass leather jacket.

Arms full, he sighs and he reconnects to voicemail.

 _“I really, really wish you would just answer your phone, Louis. This thing always cuts me off.”_ She sounds exhausted. “ _Anyway, I really need your help. Mark’s moving out. So you’re all I’ve got.”_

He tosses his little brick Nokia against his dash. “That _motherfucker_.”

~

Louis smiles at himself in the mirror and pushes a piece of hair out of his eyes. In the reflection he can see Liam and Zayn making faces at each other in yet a different mirror.

That’s one of the reasons One Direction always prepares at Harry’s- he’s got about half a dozen mirrors on the walls of his bedroom. Well, that and his parents don’t really ask too many questions.

“I found exactly what you need, Liam,” Harry says, opening the door. He’s shirtless and waving a stick of butter.

“What does Liam need a stick of butter for?” Louis asks.

Harry waggles his eyebrows. Louis has missed something, clearly.

Louis turns to Liam. “Bro?”

Louis lays on the word and Harry cackles because it’s sort of a joke between them. _Bro_. So stupid. So hilarious. No one else gets it. Definitely not Liam.

“We decided that I need it for my costume. _James,_ athletic heartthrob that he is,would definitely oil his muscles. For the ladies,” Liam explains. He turns to frown at Harry. “I don’t think a stick of butter is going to cut it though. Won’t it just, like, leave gobs of yellow on me?”

Louis thinks Liam is right. And he has a better idea.

He opens the drawer beside Harry’s bed. This horny weirdo talks about lube and jerking off more than the rest of them combined. And, yep, there it is, a small tube on top of a stack of magazines.

A stack of Sports Illustrated magazines.

Aaaand… Harry isn’t really, like, _into_ sports.

So.  

Whatever. Louis is not thinking about that. Not tonight.

He tosses the tube at Liam. “This’ll work better.”

Liam catches it, reads the label, and then shrieks, throwing it back at Louis. “Gross. Oh, gross. Where did you find that?”

Louis gives the lube another look. It reads, _Anal Pleasure_. Louis takes a breath. Okay, then.

Part of him wants to give Harry shit about it. How does a person even find butt lube? Did he actually, _in real life,_ walk into Walgreens, pull this off a shelf, and hand it across the counter for the cashier to ring up? What a bold-ass weirdo move.

Harry definitely deserves shit for it.

But things have been a little weird between them lately. For reasons that Louis is _not thinking about._ So, instead, he drops the lube back into the dresser.

Harry’s sitting on the bed watching Louis, lower lip between his teeth. He’s wearing a button down shirt now, but he’s left it all the way open and Louis can see that his nipples are hard.

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he says, eyes fixed on Louis’ face. “Asshole stuff feels great.”

Harry apparently is open to making things _even_ weirder. What. _Thefuck_.

“Oh my god,” Niall says. He’s been sitting on Harry’s beanbag chair amidst a pile of stuffed animals strumming his guitar, but now he sets it down. “I do not want to hear about the weird, kinky shit you’ve been getting up to _by yourself_.”

Louis sort of agrees with Niall and he sort of doesn’t. Harry’s sexual habits are strangely fascinating.

Like, does he stick his fingers up there or does he use, like, a dildo? And if he uses a dildo, is it actually shaped like a dick?

 _Fuck_ , he swore he was not thinking about this shit _._

He decides that’d be easier if Harry was less naked so he reaches out and twists one of Harry’s nipples. “Put these away. No one wants to see them.”

Harry cackles. “Just you wait. I’ve heard it on good authority that these nips are what got us the bachelorette party gig. Sophia has a thing for my chest.”

Liam growls. An actual growl.

Guess he’s not over the whole Girl of His Dreams Marrying Another Man thing.

Louis stands and whirls around, making eye contact with each of his friends. Loudly, he says, “Now for a very important question, suspenders or no suspenders?”

High-pitched laughter trickles in from the hallway and then Hannah and Gemma are suddenly standing in the doorway.

“Hannah, sweetcheeks,” Louis says, turning to grin at her and bat his eyelashes. “Suspenders or no suspenders?”

“Oh my god, Louis, you look so gay.” Hannah takes a sip of coke and frowns at him.

“That’s literally the point,” Zayn reminds her, not looking away from the mirror as he gels his hair.

“I thought the point was convince Sophia that she’s marrying the wrong man.” Gemma walks over to button Harry’s shirt. “Didn’t you start all this One Direction stuff two years back as a ploy to help Liam ask Soph out?”

They had. It hadn’t worked.

But that’d been okay because basically everyone in Lake County (at least all their families and friends, which make up, like, nearly half the population) had thought their boyband act was hilarious. People’d been in stitches over Louis’ character, Will, in particular.

“The point, ladies,” Louis explains, pitching his voice high and using an exaggerated lisp, “The point is to entertain.”

Hannah leans her back against the door, brows drawn together. “I just think it’s sort of rude, to make fun of gay people like that.” She looks straight at Harry who’s now whispering with Gemma. “If a gay guy were to see you, don’t you think that this would be really offensive and hurtful?”

She says it vaguely, like she hasn’t been on his case for the last six months about how she’s _sure_ Harry is gay. But she has been, and he’s sick of it. Harry’s sexuality is none of her business, for one.

“I think they’d probably feel _lucky_. They basically have permission to look their fill at this hot body and my killer pecs.” He shimmies his shoulders at her.

“Nobody’s looking at your pecs, Lou,” Harry says. He’s grinning and Louis wonders if he’d caught Hannah’s comment and the implication behind it. But then, he continues, “All the gay dudes are watching your ass. Take my word for it.”

Louis’ cheeks feel hot, but he holds Harry’s gaze.

They’d picked out his red ‘Will’ pants together at Goodwill two years ago, he and Harry. Harry’d been confident that gay men were into the ass game and that Louis would want to highlight his… _ass_ ets.

He’d said that exactly, ‘ _Gotta show off_ _your ‘ass’ets’ Lou.’_ And then had fallen over laughing at his own joke. The woman who runs the store, had come over to check on them then, and had insisted that perhaps Louis might want to look at larger sizes.

Harry’d assured her that Louis definitely wanted _this_ size.

So the pants make Louis a little uncomfortable, especially at times like this, when they’re getting ready for a gig. But, to be honest, when he gets into character, when he’s Will, he loves them.

He loves how everyone’s eyes are always darting down to his butt, the girls’ in the audience, Hannah’s, and, if he’s _really, very_ honest, Harry’s.

“I just think,” Hannah tries again.

“Let it go, Hannah,” Gemma interrupts. “Louis looks fabulous. Or, excuse me, _Will._ You want to borrow some eyeliner, babe? Or maybe a little lip gloss?”

Louis grins at her, grateful. “Sure.”

~

Louis winks at Harry as he lifts the mic to his mouth. He loads his lines with as much longing as he can manage, sending each and every note right to Harry, as if Harry’s the one he’s in love with, as if Harry’s the one who he can’t be with, as if dreams of Harry’s lanky body keep him up at night. Harry returns his gaze for moment before looking back out at the small crowd, seated in folding chairs, decked out in pink feather boas and penis necklaces.

From the corner of his eye, Louis can see Hannah leaning against the back wall by the stairs. She’s not laughing, even though everyone else is. Louis is funny- he _knows_ he is- especially when he’s in character as Will; she’s just _so_ sensitive about the whole gay thing.

Especially with _fucking_ Harry.

Well, she can fuck off because this is a _joke_ and it’s funny and he and Harry are both cool with it.

He lowers his mic, but is careful to keep his other wrist up, limp, and to let his eyes linger just a little bit longer on Harry. But Harry’s not watching him back. He’s looking out at the crowd, eyes soft as his arm drifts out to point at Sophia. Her cheeks are as pink as her plastic cowboy hat with ‘Bride’ emblazoned on it.  

Louis’ passion for these lame-ass boyband songs is as much an act as his limp wrist and lisp. He likes doing them because they give him an excuse to dance and to fuck around with his buddies and to make people laugh.

He’s not so sure about Harry. When Harry’s in his Eddie outfit up in front of a crowd, his excitement does not look fake.

This is one of the many reasons that Louis is the gay one, and not Harry or one of the other boys. His ‘Will’ act is over-the-top, cueing the crowd into the fact that this is all a joke, that the five of them don’t actually like boyband music and don’t genuinely think this is cool.

Louis acting _super_ gay is, like, _key_ in being clear about the fact that they’re not _actually_ gay.

Except that Hannah’s right. About Harry.

Louis kind of thinks he might be, like, gay or homosexual or whatever.

And it’s making things _really_ awkward for the two of them.

For example, right now, watching Harry as closely as he is, Louis can see that he’s got a boner, the bulge of it tenting his neatly pressed khakis. And this evening’s boner is not an anomaly. Harry gets them all the time.

Louis will admit that random boners aren’t too unusual for an eighteen year old- thank _fuck_ Louis’ calming down at the ripe old age of twenty- but Harry’s boners pop up at the most inopportune, bro-y moments, like when they’re wrestling for the football or stripping for a swim. And lately, it’s gotten worse.

Two weeks ago, in an effort to limit drunk driving, they’d fit seven people into Niall’s parents’ Subaru on the way to a bonfire. Harry and Louis had called ‘shotgun’ at the exact same moment and when Harry got there first, Louis’d climbed onto his lap. Bad idea. Not a minute into the ride, Louis’d felt Harry’s dick thicken under his ass.

The next tight turn, Harry’d gasped a breath into Louis’ ear and then whispered a very broken, ‘ _sorry.’_ Which Louis’d ignored. He was too busy valiantly trying not to let the shiver that’d run down his spine harden his _own_ cock.

But the drive out to the field was bumpy and by the end of it Harry’s breath was quick and uneven and right in Louis’ ear. Louis’d climbed out of the car willing away his own semi. He’d been able to keep it a bay until Harry’d moaned just as they’d turned off the road and onto to the two track.

Afterward, he tried not to think too hard about Harry rushing off into the trees, with a cracked shout of, _gotta piss_.

He and Harry talk about everything, but they did not talk about that.

Harry doesn’t seem to be too worried about it now, though. He’s continued to be his same old weird self, making bold claims about sticking things up his ass while he’s getting off and talking about how Louis’ pants flatter his fantastic ass.

Which means Louis is very, very confused, as, on stage, while performing in front of a room full of his friends and neighbors he can’t stop thinking about Harry’s boner and whether or not it has anything to do with him.

To be fair, Harry’s boner is difficult to ignore. Harry has a huge dick. Louis and the other boys give him shit about it all the time. To which Harry replies that they must be jealous. But they’re not- as far as Louis can tell, he and Liam are packing, as well (not that he, like, looks at lots of dudes’ dicks). It’s just that Harry is such a show off about it.

And, especially, when it’s hard, it’s so _obvious_ and _distracting_. At least, Louis finds it to be.

Harry finishes the song and blows a few kisses to Sophia and then to Sophia’s best friend who’d set the show up and who is supposed to be pressing a couple hundred bucks for it into Louis’ palm before the end of the night.

This was the last song of their little set and they need to start to packing up immediately because it’s Sunday, a school night for Niall and Harry and Liam, which means Liam has a curfew.

Harry, however, doesn’t even wrap up his mic before dashing off the makeshift stage and out the room. Louis knows he’d had enough (two) beers to make him tipsy before the show and Louis wonders if they aren’t settling well with the plate of potato salad his sister had forced on him before they’d left his house. He pictures Harry heaving into the toilet, pale and sad and sick.  

That’s probably not it, Louis assures himself. Harry probably just had to piss.

Except that a minute passes and then another and then a few more, and they haul the equipment up the stairs and to the front door and Harry still hasn’t reappeared.

Sophia directs Louis to the bathroom, and he bangs his fist against the wood. “Styles. Come on. You can jerk off at home.”

“Fuck off, Louis,” Harry shouts back.

Content that Harry’s not actually dying, Louis shoulders the door open.

“Holy shit.”

Harry’s khakis are around his ankles, his back is against the sink, and his dick is in his fist. His eyes, heavy-lidded, rest on Louis, and his mouth forms a small ‘oh.’

Harry isn’t actually dying; he’s actually jerking off.

“Fuck.”  

Louis steps into the room and shuts the door behind him.  

“Louis.” Harry’s voice breaks on the second syllable. He hasn’t stopped moving his hand. Louis knows this because _he_ hasn’t taken his eyes off it.

“Fuck,” Louis says again. “You’re just in here, in someone else’s bathroom, polishing one off.”

Harry nods, speeding up his motions.

Louis’ hand moves to the front of his own pants to press down on his own burgeoning erection.

“You looked so good,” Harry whines. “In those pants. And,” he reaches out with his free hand and pulls on one of Louis’ suspenders, “in these.”

Louis swallows, his gaze fixed on the pink head of Harry’s dick, disappearing and reappearing with the rhythm of his fist.

“And you were singing _to me_. You always sing _to me_ ,” Harry continues. He sounds like he’s about to cry.

But he isn’t, Louis realizes.

He’s about to come, because suddenly that’s what’s happening. Suddenly, Harry’s panting and his dick is spilling come all over his fingers and stomach.

“Lou,” he says. And, then, “Lou?”

Louis makes a mistake, then. Or another mistake, really.

He looks up and into Harry’s eyes.

His gaze is wide, awed and reverent and pleading all at once, and Louis knows that, in that moment, he’s going to give Harry anything he wants. Anything he asks for.

Someone bangs on the door. “What the hell are you two doing? Are you smoking up?”

The door doesn’t even click before swinging open. Louis hadn’t shut it all the way behind him, he realizes.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I knew it. Oh my god. I knew it, but I didn’t think you’d like... With me here.... In Soph’s bathroom. Oh my god.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Harry tells her. He’s still panting. And half naked. The bottom half.

Hannah’s pulling the door shut and turning so that her back is to them. “Pull your pants up, Harry. Oh my god. I knew it. I kept telling you to be careful with his feelings, meanwhile you’re, like, fucking him behind my back. Oh my god.”

“We’re not,” Harry says. “Like that.”

Hannah’s hands are over her eyes. “I knew you were gay. I knew it. Oh my god.”

Louis can’t find his voice. He’d just watched his best friend jerk off in front of him and now his girlfriend is crying and calling him gay. Like, literally, seriously, wants-to-fuck-dudes gay.

“Louis just walked in on me. He’s not cheating on you,” Harry insists, straightening his clothes in the mirror. “Really. Nothing happened.”

“You want to tell his boner that?” Hannah bites back. “I knew you liked him. Oh my god, Harry. You are _shameless_.”

“Lay off Harry,” Louis says. “He didn’t do anything.”

Hannah turns around and shakes her head. “I know I’m supposed to be your DD or whatever, but no way in _hell_ am I getting in the car with you right now. I can’t _believe_ this.”

Louis lets out a breath. He’s not drunk, he’d only had a few, but he’d planned on getting smashed, so he’d left his car at Harry’s. He’s not sure how-

He realizes she’s walking out of the bathroom. “Wait.”

“What?” She crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t turn around.

“You can’t tell anyone about, like, Harry. Or this,” Louis tells her, his voice shaking.

“Oh, yeah. ‘My boyfriend is more attracted to his best friend than to me.’ That’s a good story. I’m going downstairs to tell everyone right away.” She sounds as close to tears as Louis feels. Which is very, very close.

“I don’t care what you say about me.” This is true. No one’s gonna believe that he’s gay anyway, whatever Hannah says. “Just don’t talk shit about Harry.”

Behind him, Harry says, “She can tell people I’m gay. I don’t care.”

Louis straightens his shoulders. “Don’t listen to him. He’s being an idiot.”

“I’m not gonna say anything. About either of you. But like. _You are a huge dick_ , Louis Tomlinson.” She actually begins to cry. “A huge _gay_ dick.”

Harry chokes out a laugh.

“I’m not fucking gay, Hannah. You know that.” They’d fucked, he and Hannah. Like at least seven times. What the hell.

Hannah shrugs and turns to walk away.

Once she’s gone, Harry says, “I can drive you home. I wanted to anyway.”

Louis suddenly wishes he _had_ gotten smashed. “Okay,” he says.

~

The drive from Danielle’s parents’ house in Lakeland to Edwardsville takes twenty minutes and he and Harry are quiet for the entirety of it. About ten minutes in, Harry turns on the radio and they listen to Tony the evening DJ on the Fox take callers who have opinionson the best guitarist of all time.

Louis has an opinion on this (Eric Clapton), as does Harry (Jimi Hendrix). Still, they don’t say a word.

When they pull up into driveway of the Farmhouse, Harry cuts the engine off and then the headlights. He reaches into the back seat of his Jeep and pulls out a Tupperware.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” he asks.

Louis looks at his phone, because it feels like he should. He doesn’t have anything to do. His family is already in bed, probably, but it’s still pretty early and, anyway, he’s sure won’t be sleeping anytime soon, if he’s able to sleep at all.

“I brought you cookies, which, I mean, you can have them either way.” He hands the Tupperware to Louis who eyes it with caution.

Cookies and a Talk. Okay...

“They’re chocolate chip, like with big dark chocolate chunks,” Harry adds. His hands have moved back to the steering wheel.

“Those are my favorite,” Louis says.

“I know,” Harry tells him.

Louis opens the Tupperware and sticks a cookie in his mouth. “What’s up?” he asks, tone casual, like this hasn’t been the weirdest night, at the end of the weirdest two weeks of their relationship, ever.

“Two things,” Harry tells him.

He nods. He thinks he knows the first.

Harry likes boys. Maybe the second is that Harry likes him.

His stomach flutters. He thinks about walking into that bathroom, about how Harry’s jaw had slackened as he’d come, Louis’ name on his lips.

Harry definitely likes him.

He wonders if Harry will try to kiss him, right now, across the center console of the Jeep with cookie crumbs on his lips, and he adjusts his pants.

“Okay, go ahead,” he says, not looking at Harry.

“I’m sorry about earlier, in the bathroom. I shouldn’t have- I should’ve stopped when you came in.” Harry taps his fingers on the steering wheel and Louis lets out a breath. They’re not going to pretend that it didn’t happen, then. Louis had really wanted to pretend that the whole mess back there hadn’t happened.

“It’s okay,” Louis says. “I’m sorry Hannah came in. I don’t think she’ll say anything.” This is true. He is and he doesn’t. Hannah’s a good egg. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone, especially not Louis or Harry.

“She was right, though,” Harry says. He’s whispering now. “I’m gay.”

Louis nods.  For some reason, his eyes are pricking with tears. “Okay.”

He knew this. He already _knew_ this. But still, “What about Madeline? I thought you fucked Madeline. You _told_ me that you fucked Madeline.”

If Harry had fuckinglied about losing his virginity to _Louis’_ crush… At the time, Louis hadn’t even gotten a _handjob_ from a girl, let alone had sex with one. And Harry’d said that he _got in_ with _Madeline_.

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t really- that helped me figure it out, actually.”

Louis closes his eyes. He’s not going to fucking _cry_. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Harry repeats. “Okay.”

He’s watching Louis. Louis can feel his gaze, but he can’t look back. “That’s fine. We’re cool.”

“I meant the other stuff, too, though. I think you’re really attractive, Louis,” Harry continues. “Like the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met.”

Louis huffs. No one’s ever said that to him before, not Hannah, not even his mom, and his stomach is fluttering again, like maybe he might be sick.

“I’m not, Harry,” he says. “I’m just a guy.”

Harry chokes out a laugh and turns his whole body toward Louis. “Your ass was sculpted by the gods. And your cheekbones were carved by angels. And your-“

“Save it for the songwriting,” Louis cuts him off. He reaches up to adjust his fringe, still keeping his eyes trained forward.

Harry’s still watching him, quietly now. He’s waiting, Louis realizes, for Louis to respond.

Louis takes a deep breath and then forces out the words, “Harry, I’m not like you. I’m just not. So. Thank you for saying all that and, I mean, I love you, but like. I don’t want to be your boyfriend, or whatever.”

It’s true because it has to be true.

Finally, he turns his head to look at Harry. His fringe falls back into his eyes. He needs Harry to understand. “I really care about you, Harry. You’re like my little brother, or something. I’m not mad and I’m not going to stop being there for you. But it can’t be like that between us.”

Harry holds his gaze. He opens his mouth and then he closes it. Finally, he says, “I love you, too.”

Louis shifts the box of cookies on his lap. They seem far less appetizing than they had before.

That’s two things, Harry’s gay and he likes Louis. Louis asks, “Is that what you wanted to tell me? With cookies?”

Harry shakes his head and looks away. “That was _one_ thing. There’s something else, too.”

“Okay,” Louis says.

“Actually, I didn’t plan to tell you that first thing, I mean about me being, like, you know, gay. Not today, anyway. But, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I did. I brought you the cookies because I hoped we’d be celebrating.”

Louis forces himself to smile. “What are we celebrating?”

Harry leans his head back onto the headrest and closes his eyes. “You still want to get out with me, right? Like the other thing doesn’t change that you want to leave this shithole and go to school with me in the big city?”

Louis laughs. “Nothing could change that. Chi-town, here we come!”

Harry smiles, his dimples popping for the first time since he’d left the stage. The sight of them calms Louis a little. Harry should _always_ smile. _Louis_ should make sure that Harry is _always_ smiling.

“I got my acceptance letter yesterday,” Harry says. “What about you? You must’ve, too.”

Louis hands ball into fists. He got _a_ letter yesterday, but he hasn’t been able to open it. It’s thick, which bodes well, he’s heard.

But, what if it’s not? What if it’s a ‘no’? What if Louis’ stuck here in Edwardsville forever?

“Mine hasn’t come yet,” Louis tells him.

Harry’s face falls. “Oh, okay.” Then, he brightens again. “Well, I’m sure it’s coming and I’m sure it’ll be a ‘yes.’”

Louis doesn’t feel nearly so confident. He’d done alright in high school, but it’d been mostly a joke and his first semester in community college had kicked his ass. He’s improved, and they’d specifically chosen a school that said it accepted people with numbers like Louis’.

But there was no way around the fact that Harry’d be at the top of the average acceptance pool and Louis at the bottom.

“Maybe,” Louis says.

“Even if you don’t get in,” Harry says, just as he has many times before, “you can still come to Chicago with me. Maybe you can get in somewhere else. Or go to community college there. The important thing is to get out of here.”

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

Harry tilts his head. “Thank you for being cool about all the, like, gay stuff.”

Louis holds his gaze for a moment before turning to look out the windshield. A light’s gone on in his kitchen. His mom must still be up.

Suddenly, he remembers her text from earlier about that fucker Mark.

“Lou?” Harry asks.

Louis turns to Harry and then reaches out to pat his arm. “It’s cool. You’re still the same Harry, right? You’re not going to start talking different or dressing different or acting different. You’re still my Harry. So, it’s fine.”

Harry bites his lip. “Okay.”

“Listen, I’ve gotta go check-in with my mom before she goes to bed,” he says.

Harry’s voice is very small. “Okay.”

“Thanks for the cookies.” Louis throws the words over his shoulder as he hops out of the jeep and rushes up the stairs of the porch.

~

“You were out late.” His mom is sitting at the big oak kitchen table in her bathrobe drinking a cup of tea. Behind her the clock on the microwave reads 11:23.

“Not that late,” Louis disagrees.

“It’s a school night for Harry. His mom will have something to say to me about that tomorrow.” The dark smudges beneath her eyes have turned into deep ruts.

Louis rolls his eyes. “He’s got Ms. Watson first thing. They don’t do shit in her class.”

His mom shakes her head. He can feel her eyes follow him as he pours himself a glass of water and pulls a half-eaten bag of chips out of the cupboard. When he’s sitting, she says, “You had a show tonight?”

Louis nods. “For Sophia Smith’s bachelorette party.”

His mom purses her lips. “I know it makes people laugh, but I just wish you wouldn’t do that whole fake gay thing.”

Louis thinks about Hannah telling him the same thing earlier, her pointed look in Harry’s direction. He thinks about her walking in on them, then about Harry jerking off in front of him _moaning Louis’ name_.

“‘The whole fake gay thing.’ You sound like Hannah,” Louis tells her. “She thinks it’d be hurtful to people who actually are.”

Louis’ mom looks down at her cup of tea. “I think,” she begins and then looks up at him. “I think you might be confusing people, that’s all.”

The tips of Louis’ fingers start to itch and he squirms a little in his seat. She knows or suspects about him and Harry, just like Hannah had. _Fuck_. And they’re right, aren’t they? He’d gotten a fucking boner on the car ride two weeks ago and, again, tonight, in the bathroom. If he’s honest, those aren’t the only times, either.

“You?” Louis asks, voice cutting. “Am I confusing you?” He hopes he comes off harsh and disbelieving, as if he’s suggested something all but impossible and not something he has a feeling might be true.

His mom laughs, a tired, half-hearted snort of laugh. “No, I think I know my own son. I mean, like, your friends.”

“You _really_ sound like Hannah, now. She thinks Harry-“ He stops. He and his mom have talked about this before, about Hannah’s wild suspicion that Harry is gay. The two of them gossip about all the local drama.

But he thinks maybe it’s different, now that Harry’s let him in on his secret. It’s not just speculation. Harry is gay, that’s what he’d said to Louis in the Jeep.

“Yes, I agree with her. I think you need to be careful with Harry,” his mom says, interrupting his thoughts.

Louis takes a gulp of water. This is his mom. Surely, Harry would expect him to tell _her._ He knows how close they are.

“He’s a good kid. I love him like a son, you know that. But I think he may have some ideas about the two of you that aren’t exactly correct. I don’t know where-“

His mom is rambling now, talking around what she really wants to say, and Louis hears himself cut her off, blurting, “Harry’s gay.”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Then his mom says, “I know. Anne told me a couple of weeks ago.”

Louis’ jaw drops. His mom knew something about Harry before he did.

And, wait, Harry’d already told his family?! This puzzles Louis. If it were him, well, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to tell anyone, but the last person he’d want to tell would be his mom.

She’d be so disappointed, so brokenhearted, so _worried._

She’s already worried about Harry. Clearly.

“How long have you known, dear? You’re not going to stop being friends with him, are you? I don’t think he or Anne could bear it.” His mom looks genuinely curious. As if, in some universe somewhere, it might be possible that he, Louis Tomlinson, could simply stop being best friends with Harry Styles.

“He told me tonight. Like, just now before I came in.” It hurts a little to admit that he hasn’t known as long as she has, but he’s too dazed to lie. “And of course I’m not going to stop being friends with him. He’s like a brother to me.” He finishes off his water and then upends the bag of chips into his mouth to get at the last few crumbs.

His mom lets out a breath and nods. “It’s good he’s going to the big city for school. Things will be easier for him there, I’m sure. Lots of other people like him.”

Louis nods. He imagines Harry bringing a boyfriend back to their shared apartment, cuddling with another guy while they watch late night tv. The image upsets his stomach. He’ll try very hard not to be homophobic, but, like, it’ll be Harry and another _guy_.

Louis’ mom reaches out and squeezes his forearm. “You’re a good friend. This has got to be really hard for Harry, especially here in Lake County. He needs good friends.  I’m proud of you.”

Louis frowns. “It’s not a big deal,” he says.

Her grip tightens, nails digging in a little. “You’re such a good boy. Loyal. Always there when your friends or family needs you.”

He sees a tear form in the corner of her eye and then stream down her cheek and his heart _aches._ He rises and moves closer to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“He’s gone, Louis,” she says. “He’s packing up his stuff tomorrow, but he’s staying somewhere else tonight. I think he’ll be moving out of town. Away from me, away from the girls...”

Louis buries his face in his mom’s hair. “What a dick. Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

“No, boo bear, don’t be silly.” The old nickname rattles him, but he doesn’t say anything about it, not now. For now, he just holds her until she’s finished crying.

~

The next night, Louis digs the envelope from the university out of his desk drawer and sticks it into the front pocket of his hoodie before heading outside.

He squats down in front of the fire pit, balls the letter up in his fist, and tucks it underneath the pile of kindling.  It burns easily, letting up a billow of smoke which stings at Louis’ eyes as he waits for the other boys to arrive.

They kick off planting season with a bonfire and two six-packs of Miller Light Louis’d snuck from the back of Mark’s truck before he’d driven off for good.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter contains: masturbation, getting caught (in a non-fun kind of way), almost sort of infidelity, and more angst than any other chapter save the climactic one I promise


	2. May 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we really begin! Again, a couple chapter-specific spoilery warnings in the endnotes.

Louis slides onto the leather barstool beside Liam and bangs his fist on the bar. “Bartender. Hey, bartender. We’re here to get this young bro fucked up.”

Lara ducks her head out the door to the kitchen, her dark ponytail falling over her shoulder. “Fuck off, Tomlinson.”

She freezes when she catches sight of Liam and Andy and sidles out to pull down a couple of mugs, which she fills with Miller Light. She sets the beers in front of them with a smile and a, “Congratulations, Liam.”

“Hey, now,” Louis tapping the empty space where his drink should be. “Lara, honey.”

“You’ve got a tab that runs a hell of a lot deeper than your bank account,” Lara says, swaying her hips as she walks over to grab a couple of menus for the other two guys. “Greg says I’m not allowed to serve you anymore until I see some cash.”

Reluctantly, Louis digs his money clip out of his back pocket and sets a twenty on the counter. “For tonight,” Louis tells her. “A round of shots. Jim Beam.”

She sighs and fingers the bill.

“I’m good for the rest. Just don’t have it on me,” Louis promises with a wink. It’s not strictly true, not right now. But it will be true. Someday.

Shaking her head, she says, “You’re lucky Niall’s willing to vouch for you.” She lines the shot glasses up on the counter and fills them up one by one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“Where’s the man of the hour? Gonna get shitfaced tonight?” Niall comes up behind Lara and presses a kiss to the side of her cheek and pats her pregnant belly. “You and the little one gonna show him a good time?”

“Don’t think your brother would appreciate that.” Lara smiles at him.

“That’s why you should’ve married me. I’d’ve been more than happy to share,” Niall tells her reaching over the bar and downing the shot in front of Louis with a grimace.

“No wonder you’ve got all the ladies chasing after you. Such a romantic,” Lara laughs and, without being asked, she pulls down another shot glass and fills it for Louis.

“Shouldn’t’ve married anyone, if you ask me,” Louis says. “‘s fucked up institution.” He tips his shot glass toward Liam and then throws it back.

Liam flushes, slurping down his own drink, and Louis watches the muscles in his neck working as he swallows. Fucking waste of a good man, if you ask Louis. Which nobody has.

“It’s not so bad,” Lara tells them, fingering the tiny diamond on her left hand. “You and Soph are perfect together, anyway. Don’t know what took so long for her to come around.”

She’s right, he thinks. Liam and Sophia are wonderful together. They both want the same things- kids, a clean and orderly house, and the occasional night out. And they have so much fun together, more fun than he’s seen any couple have in a long time, even if they have that fun doing lame shit like laying brick for a patio and playing Chutes and Ladders with Dale.  

It’s just, “A wife and kid is a lot of responsibility to agree to all at once.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Niall says, pouring them each another shot. “Jay and the girls got you tied down for life.”

Louis flicks him off. He’s not married to his own mother, thank you very much.

“Family’s fucking family, Horan,” Liam says, and this is why Louis loves Liam. “What the fuck was Louis supposed to do after Mark left? Fuck off to Chicago like Harry or LA like Zayn? No fucking way. He’s a good man.”

Louis smiles and wraps an arm around Liam’s shoulder. He’s already slurring a bit, the light weight.

“You’re a good bro, Liam. Sophia’s a lucky woman. Glad she’s finally come around. And you’re gonna make a great dad.” Louis nuzzles into him a little as he says it.

He’s so glad Liam’s here and alive and not in fucking Afghanistan anymore.

“I dunno, man,” Andy says leaning around Liam to look at Louis. “Dale’s a pain in the ass. Would not want him for a kid.”

Andy’s right. Dale whines more than the average kid, and Louis would probably strangle him within a few days, but he thinks Liam can handle it. What good’s having a cop for a step father if he can’t toughen you up? “Liam’ll be good for him.”

Liam grins into his drink. “He already calls me ‘dad.’”

Louis gives his shoulder another squeeze before letting go and pushing down the weird bubble of jealousy welling up in his chest.

On the bar, Liam’s phone pings and then, almost immediately, Louis’ buzzes in his pocket.

Liam swipes his screen open. “Harry.”

Instead of digging out his own phone, Louis peers over Liam’s shoulder. Harry’s texted them all a picture of himself kissing Lou’s cheek, the blue neon Tina’s clearly visible behind them.

His hair is long, curling down inches past his shoulders. It’d been long at Christmas, but not this long. They always ‘joke’ that Chicago’d turned him into a dirty hippie.

Louis fucking hates dirty hippies. Like, take a shower, man.

Except that whenever he’s been around Harry fresh out of the shower, his skin has been flushed pink, so fucking touchable, and the smell of his soap has been so strong as to tempt Louis to lean in and sniff. Clean Harry makes Louis want things he can’t have, things he shouldn’t want in the first place.

Liam’s phone pings again, and Louis feels the echoing vibration against his ass.

_Where are you at? You’re late and I’m getting started without you._

Harry’d said he wouldn’t be able to meet up for dinner and so they’d agreed to meet at Tina’s at nine and it’s already nine-thirty.

Louis’ not really an on time kind of guy.

Another message pings in.

_Or maybe I’m catching up. Whatever. Get over here before Lou lures me home with her._

“Well,” Louis says. “Looks like we’d better get our asses over there if we ever want to see Harry again.”

It’s no secret that Harry’d rather play princesses with baby Lux or get stoned with Lou and Sam than party on the town. They’d lost many a precious night out with him to the Teasedales over the last few years.

“Always ready to scope out the competition.” Niall pours himself one more shot and lifts it to his lips saying, “For the road, ‘cause it‘s cheaper here.” They spend a lot of time at Horan’s and Niall doesn’t make a secret of the fact that he likes to go elsewhere on occasion.

Louis doesn’t think Niall holds any real animosity towards the Teasdales. They’re a different kind of bar, and they attract a different crowd. Louis would never tell Niall, but he prefers the cave-like vibe at Tina’s better than the glossy yellow wood and bright lights of Horan’s. Tina’s is much smaller and darker, a few blocks off main street and harder for vacationers to find. The latter makes it far more appealing to Louis, especially in the summer.

Still, Louis thinks as he downs another shot, Horan’s does give him a discount.

~

When they are arrive at Tina’s, three older men are playing pool, laughing raucously, probably wasted off their asses, Lottie’s father-in-law among them. He waves to Louis, gesturing him over.

Louis wanders over meaning to shake his hand and harass him about his terrible technique. They’re friendly, and sometimes he’ll give Louis money for doing an odd job around his place, like patching up a fence or repainting the garage. Louis is grateful for the work and, right now, he’s grateful for the distraction.  

He’d seen Harry draped loosely over the bar, grinning widely at the door as the four of them had made their way inside and his breath had caught in his chest. Getting drunk with Harry is bad idea. In fact, he’d be hard pressed to figure a worse idea, at the moment.

Except that Jim does not provide the distraction he’s looking for. Instead, as soon as he clasps Louis’ hand in his own, he nods discreetly in Harry’s direction. “Is that the Styles kid? You guys used to be friends, right? The fuck happened to him?”

Louis flounders for an explanation. “He, um. He’s a dirty hippie, that’s what.”

Jim’s eyes narrow. “Looks like he thinks he’s Steven Tyler or Mick Jagger or some shit.”

He’s right. Harry’s ditched his flannel shirts of past years for something flowy and flowery, open almost all the way to his belly button. He looks ridiculous. So. Out. Of. Place.

“And he’d better leave Lou the fuck alone if he doesn’t want Tom to fuck him up. You tell him that?” Jim presses.

Louis nods, looking away from Harry and back into his eyes. “Tom doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

“Just tell him to be careful.” Jim gives him a firm nod before turning back to his game. “Some fellas around here not gonna take to his pretty boy act.”

Louis’ pulse picks up. He knows it’s true. He’d probably have said the same thing to Harry himself at some point, if he had the opportunity to get him alone. But fuck if he’s gonna sit back and let someone else talk about Harry that way.

“I appreciate the concern, but you don’t know shit about him,” Louis mutters.

Jim angles his body back toward Louis, throwing his hands up. “Just sayin’ kid should be careful.”

Louis bites back the fuck off that rises to his lips and nods before heading over to where Lou is pouring the boys yet another round of shots.

He reaches out to Harry, tapping his shoulder. “Hey, man.”

No sooner has he spoken than Harry is whirling around to wrap in him in a tight hug. Louis can’t help but breath him in, relaxing reflexively into the familiar scent, a mixture of spicy cologne, apple shampoo, and the same damn fabric softener his mom’s been using forever.

He’s really not a dirty hippie.

“It’s been too long,” he says, voice rumbling down Louis’ spine and shivering out to the tips of his toes.

Louis lets Harry go more quickly than he’d like, nodding, but very, very aware of Jim and his pals watching from the other side of the room.

He continues to grin, the force of it fully focused on Louis. “What’d Jim want?”

“You know Jim?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. He’s good with names, Louis remembers. “Sort of. Lottie’s Joe was in my grade, remember?”

He’s still standing very close to Louis. Their shoulders are brushing and Louis can smell the whiskey on his breath. His eyes fall to Harry’s mouth, his pink lips wet and slightly parted.

They haven’t ever kissed, he and Harry, Louis thinks.

Which is a weird fucking thought and exactly why he tries not to get drunk around Harry anymore.

“He just wanted to thank me for helping get his tractor up and running the other day. With his arthritis getting bad and Joe gone to school, I try to get over there a couple times a week,” Louis tells him. That’s not what Jim had wanted to talk about, of course, but the rest of it’s true.

“I thought you were going back to school,” Harry tuts. Had Louis said that to him? He couldn’t remember. Probably. He did want to go back to school. Someday.

Yet another reason he doesn’t like getting drunk with Harry: Harry has a knack for easing secrets out of him.

Not, like, his biggest secrets. Louis is very good at keeping those.

But Harry’s been able to pull so many of the little ones out of him, like how he longed to work with kids, to teach at the local elementary school, and how much he hated his mom’s new rich younger husband Dan and how he’d very, very briefly looked into selling the Farmhouse after she and the girls had moved out.  

“Excuse me. Not to interrupt your moment, but you want a beer, Louis?” Lou asks, eyebrows raised. She won’t let him keep a tab here, not after she’d heard about the one he’d run at Horan’s.

But Louis has saved up for tonight, so he nods.

When she sets down the bottle of Miller High Life, Harry says, “Put it on my check. I’ve got him tonight.”

Louis tilts his head. “Not gonna fight you. I don’t turn down free drinks.”

Harry laughs, and Louis wants to bury himself in his dimples. “I know, Louis. Trust me.”

He looks back at Lou and, nodding, seats himself on a barstool. “If this fucker’s getting it, pour me a shot of whatever they’re having, too.” He gestures at the other three.

Andy and Niall are smacking a choking Liam on the back.

“I know you’re celebrating, but don’t get too rowdy,” Lou tells them, reaching for a glass. “I don’t want to call 911 tonight.”

Liam’s brows furrow. “I am 911.” Then, louder, he shouts. “I am 911.”

“Yes, you are, my man. Yes, you are,” Louis agrees, sipping his beer. Beside him, Harry giggles and steps closer, placing a hand on Louis’ back. It’s hot even through his shirt and Louis can’t decide if he wants Harry to keep it there or take it away.

~

A couple of girls pour into the bar about twenty minutes later. Louis recognizes them from around town. He thinks they’re a few years younger and from Glen River.

They walk straight up to Niall. The tallest, a blonde wearing tight jeans and a tighter top, puts her hands on her hips. “Here we are,” she says. “You said if we showed up, someone would buy us drinks.”  

Harry clambers out of his seat and moves in. “Cara, right?”

Cara’s shoulders pop up and one of her hands flies to her neck. “Yeah. Um, Harry?”

Louis is remembering her now; she’s the daughter of the pastor his mom’s always complaining about, the one who’s always writing conservative editorials in the local paper.

Harry nods. “I’ll buy you a drink. And your friend, Kendall was it?”

“Wait,” Liam calls out. “It’s my bachelor party. I should buy the girls’ drinks.”

“Good idea,” Louis remarks, at the same time as Andy says, “That does not make sense.”

(Andy was the right choice for best man, obviously.)

“Don’t be silly,” Harry says. “I’ve got it.”

The girls create a little half-circle around Harry, blocking him off from the other boys. And fuck if he doesn’t happily allow it, asking them how they’re doing and what they’re getting up to with their lives.

Louis turns away from the, frankly embarrassing, scene. Lottie’d once told him that he should put on his ‘Will’ act more often ‘cause gay guys get all the chicks. He wonders if the girls are quietly hoping that Harry’ll take one of them home.

The truth is Louis has a better chance of going home with Harry than any of them. Actually, Louis has an awesome chance. If he wanted to, he could probably take Harry out back right now for a blow job. He doesn’t think Harry’d even hesitate before dropping to his knees and-

Louis takes a breath and sets his beer bottle down on the other side of the bar. He’s probably had enough for the night.

Just because Harry’d admitted he’d liked Louis when he was eighteen, that doesn’t mean now, six years later, he’d put out for Louis like that. And anyway, Louis doesn’t want him to. Not really.

“That was a shitty idea,” Niall says, nodding to Harry and the girls. He’s talking loud enough that they could probably hear what he’s saying, if they were listening.

Still, Louis nods. Because it was. Now, Harry’s not even hanging out with them anymore.

“Cara was supposed to sit on Liam’s lap for a few minutes, maybe let him do a body shot off her and then go home with me.”

“Jesus, Niall. The girl’s not a prostitute,” Louis says, nodding gratefully at Lou who’s brought him a beer.

“I know,” Niall’s nose wrinkles and his eyebrows draw together. “Obviously.”

Shaking his head, he continues, “We had an understanding, me and her. Or I thought we did. Looks like Harry’ll probably drive them home after this, give them a peck on the cheek, and share some hair conditioning tips.”

Louis laughs. “Well, he knows the way to a lady’s heart, that Styles. But, seriously,” he adds, a moment later, watching Harry gesture to himself and then to the dart board with glassy eyes. “Harry’s not driving anyone anywhere. Kid’s shitfaced.”

Niall shrugs. “I’ve done worse.”

“Fucking hell.” Liam shouts loud enough that everyone in the bar turns to look at him. “Nobody better be driving home drunk.” He stands up and makes a fist at Niall. “I will lock your ass up. You wanna be locked up? You want me to put you in handcuffs, Niall?”

“I did not know you were so kinky, Liam!” Harry exclaims. The girls around him, who’d seemed vaguely uncomfortable during Liam’s outburst, break out in laughter.

Liam waggles his eyebrows. “You into it, Styles?”

Harry nods and that’s it. Louis’ had enough of Harry’s weirdness for one night. “I think it’s probably time for me to head out,” he says.

“It’s my party,” Liam shouts. “And I’m not done with you.”

Andy’s standing and handing Lou his card. “You can’t bail now,” he says to Louis. “You’ll break Liam’s heart.”

“You’re all coming back to my place,” Niall insists.

“That’s right, Niall! We are all going to your place! Even Tommo!” Liam sounds amazed. “What a good idea! Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole.”

“Hey,” Lou says, but she’s laughing.

~

The block they’re on is mostly dark with the exception of a flickering porch light on the third house from the corner. Louis tries to keep focused on the street lamp two blocks away.

He can make it. He can and he will.

They’re not far from Niall’s apartment, a tiny one bedroom place right over Horan’s, but Harry, whose feet have apparently turned to rubber, is leaning on him, heavily. Very heavily.

Into Louis’ ear, Harry says, “Surprised you didn’t go home with someone, Lou.”

He says this as if they hadn’t been the only people in the bar aside from Harry’s harem, Lou, and the old men at the pool tables. He’s used to Chicago clubs, probably.

“Nah,” Louis replies, squeezing Harry’s waist, where he’s holding him up. “I wanted to spend the night with my boys. For Liam.” He decides this is also important for Liam to know. So he shouts, “I came out tonight for Liam.”

“You came out,” Harry giggles. “Me too. I came out, too.”

“Harry!” Louis hisses, scandalized. They don’t really talk about that. Like, at all. Ever.

“I just thought you’d probably want to sleep with someone because you always get so horny when you drink whiskey,” Harry says, his mouth moving against Louis’ hair.  

“How would you know that?” Louis asks. He hears himself shouting and knows there are houses with children on this street and that he needs to be quieter for the children.

He should have drank more water. Or less alcohol. Or both.

“I just know you,” Harry replies, leaning down to nuzzle his neck. “I know you real good.”

He doesn’t think Harry’s right about this. So, yeah, he’s horny right now. But that’s because of Harry’s body, pressed along his own and Harry’s mouth so close to Louis’ ear. Each word he speaks rumbles through Louis. And those two things alone, the warmth of Harry’s body and the sound Harry’s voice, are enough to make Louis half-hard. Whiskey or no.

Louis has been able to recognize and admit his body’s weird-ass attraction to Harry for a while now- for years, really- if only to himself. Silently. In his head.

He isn’t going to act on it. Ever. Obviously.

Louis tries to step away from Harry, to set him back onto his own feet.

The thing is, there’s a point he wants to make and he can’t do that when he’s distracted. Harry does not cooperate, instead clinging more tightly to Louis’ side, and Louis gives up. He’ll have to make his point muffled by Harry’s hair, he supposes.

“If you know me so well, why haven’t we talked, just the two of us, in three years? We haven’t hung out like real best friends in three years,” Louis emphasizes the length of time because it seems really fucking long to him.

“Not true. We’ve seen each other a lot. Every holiday,” Harry answers easily.

In front of them, Liam has begun to sing the Backstreet Boys. Better that than One Direction.

“Yeah, but we- Louis and Harry- haven’t talked. Not like this. Not alone,” Louis insists. Because they haven’t. They’ve always had the buffer of friends or family.

They do now, even. If things turn too uncomfortable all one of them has to do is wander a few steps ahead.  

“You didn’t like my boyfriend,” Harry reminds him. “When you came to visit, you told him that if he so much as looked at me wrong, you’d skin him alive and feed his balls to your goats. You told him you were good at skinning animals, which I know for a fact you aren’t.”

Why are they drunk together. They should not be drunk together. Louis had been drunk with Harry the time he’s referring to, too, when he’d threatened his boyfriend’s life. He makes rash decisions when drunk, says things he shouldn’t. They both do.

“Would you talk more quietly, Harry? People will hear you,” Louis hisses.

“LOUIS TOMLINSON HAS NEVER SKINNED AN ANIMAL IN HIS WHOLE LIFE,” Harry shouts.

A light goes on in the upstairs window of the house next to them.

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis says.

“It’s true,” Harry replies, laughing hysterically now. “I’m the best at Louis Tomlinson trivia. I know more about you than you know about you.”

“You do not,” Louis protests.

“How Belgian are you?” Harry asks.

Louis has no idea how Belgian he is. He’s sure his mother has mentioned it once or twice in passing, but he’s forgotten. Honestly, he doesn’t really care.

When Louis doesn’t answer, Harry says, “You’re one eighth Belgian. Jay told me a few Christmases ago. Her Grandma immigrated here from Belgium. Spoke French and stuff.”

“Stop making shit up,” Louis says, even though Harry’s probably being one hundred percent truthful.

“The point is,” Harry says. “I know all kinds of things about you. Like how Belgian you are and that you’ve never skinned an animal and that you’re horny when you drink whiskey.”

“Well, fuck, Harry. Why don’t you write my biography, then.”

“I could. I’d do a good job. I could also run your twitter account and post for you on Facebook.” He sounds like he’s thought this through.

They reach the street corner with the light. Niall’s apartment is in view now.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Louis hears himself say.

Harry leans more heavily against him. How does he still smell so damn good, even after two hours in that shitty bar? He’s magical, probably. “Me, too. The Dream Team, reunited.”

Louis nods. “I wish you never left.”

“But I’m right here.”

Harry’s voice’s going hoarse and Louis is suddenly very aware of how close their faces are. Harry’s nose is almost touching his cheek and his curls are tickling his throat.  

“For now,” Louis sighs, knowing that as soon as the wedding is over, Harry’ll head back to Chicago and his high paying job and beautiful apartment and handsome boyfriend, probably.

Harry hums. “Yeah, for now, I’m here with you.”

And that’s true. So Louis resolves to enjoy it, even if doing so means walking a very dangerous line.

~

Niall thumps the pint of top shelf whiskey on the wooden table in the middle of the room. “I brought the goods,” he announces.

He’s a responsible man, Niall Horan. He takes care of his shit.

Louis’ working on the playlist, which, admittedly, should have been done earlier while Andy chats with the photographer over the phone.

Liam, who is remarkably chill, but can’t seem to stop giggle-skip-pacing says, “I don’t think you’re supposed to have alcohol in the church.”

“Of course, you can. Jesus drank all the time. He was practically an alcoholic!” Harry is lying on his back on the cream colored carpet, spread eagle and wearing only a pair of tiny black boxer briefs. Apparently, Liam had told him that since he was coming in from out of town, all he had to do as a groomsman was show up.

Louis doesn’t look up from the playlist to reply. That way lies… danger. “How do you know, Styles? You’ve never even been to church.”

Harry laughs. “Don’t have to go to church to read the Bible. Anyway, I’m a very spiritual person.”

“The fuck you are,” Louis shoots back and, shit, now he’s made the mistake of looking down at him. Harry’s only been home a week and, between today, the bachelor party and the two painting jobs Robin had set them up on, Louis’ already seen him shirtless no less than four times.

He’s getting used to the view, the new tats covering most of his chest and the faint outline of his six pack. He is not used to the clear outline of Harry’s bulge. He can fucking see the outline of the head of his cock through the thin fabric.

“I am. I do yoga three mornings a week and I’ve gone to meditation at the campus chapel quite a few times.” His eyes are closed and he looks very serene, as if he might be meditating right now on the floor of the church where Liam is about to be married.

At moments like this, Louis feels like he doesn’t know him at all, like he’s transformed from the weird, spotty caterpillar kid that Louis grew up with to the beautiful, exotic moth on his chest.

“You know who else is a spiritual guy?” Harry asks.

Louis returns his focus to the playlist. They need music.

“Zayn,” Harry continues when no one answers him. “Zayn Malik has a spiritual connection to the universe. You could just feel it, you know?”

“Where is he anyway?” Andy asks. He’s unzipping the bag with his suit.

He bailed is what happened and Louis’ quit speaking to him over it. How the fuck are you going to bail on your best friend’s wedding. Who gives a fuck if you’re poor and a thousand miles away. For your best friend and the love of his life, you fucking figure it out.

“He’s a dick,” Louis summarizes.

“Oh, come on. It’s not his fault. Couldn’t scrape up enough cash for the plane ticket,” Liam explains. “I tried to get out to LA to see him last summer, but it’s a lot of money.”

Harry hums to himself.

Louis thinks Liam is being very understanding. Too understanding.

“Don’t make excuses for that lazy fucker,” Louis spits.  

For his part, Louis’ cussed Zayn out for missing this shit three times already. Once on Twitter.  Zayn went out west to become some big shot R&B musician and, in Louis’ opinion, now, two years later, when it’s very clear that this is not happening (and never fucking was), he needs to get his ass home.

“I heard,” Harry drawls. “I heard that he and his model girlfriend had a thing this weekend.” The words trickle lazily from his mouth, as if the comment is offhand and without weight.

It’s not. Just last week, Zayn had complained to Louis that he’s had a harder time getting laid in LA than he ever had in Lake County because he hasn’t figured out an easy way to meet people. There’s no way in hell that Zayn has a model girlfriend.

“What? He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Liam says, but he sounds doubtful. Louis imagines he’s probably had similar conversations with Zayn.

Louis is relatively certain that Harry and Zayn don’t speak at all anymore so Harry is obviously bullshitting.

“It’s a secret,” Harry continues. “But he’s dating that super hot famous one, Gigi. You know who I’m talking about?”

“No fucking way,” says Niall, but he doesn’t sound disbelieving. He sounds awed. “Gigi Hadid? Well, they are equally beautiful, she and Zayn.”

“Oh, come on. There’s no way that’s true,” Liam says. “This sounds just like when you supposedly met Taylor Swift at a club in Chicago and she asked for your number. It a good story but-”

Harry rolls his shoulders. “Yes, Liam. That’s exactly what it’s like. Exactly.”

“I still can’t believe you never called Swifty back, bro,” Niall says. “Like, you could have fucked the most famous woman in the world! Don’t tell me that’s not hot.”

Oh, Louis thinks. He knows what this is about.

“Oh,” says Liam, nodding, slowly at first and then with more enthusiasm. Brightly, perhaps a bit too brightly to be believable, he adds, “Oh! Yeah, wow. Zayn’d mentioned to me that he was seeing someone, but I never would have thought... Sharing girls with a Jonas brother. Zayn’s such a stud.”

“I can’t believe it. You move to a big city and you get hit on by Taylor Swift. Zayn moves to a big city and he secretly dates Gigi Hadid. You think if I moved to a big city, I could get married to Selena Gomez?” Niall sounds so incredibly hopeful. And so incredibly stupid.

“You guys are terrible,” Andy says. He’s shooting Louis a dirty look, even though Louis hasn’t said a damn word to contribute to Harry’s charade.

“So are you excited to be married, Liam?” Harry asks, redirecting attention before he’s caught out. “To Sophia Smith? The girl of your dreams?”

Liam laughs. “Yeah, she really is, isn’t she?” He sounds amazed. As far as Louis can tell, he’s been in a constant state of amazement since Sophia’d agreed to go on that first date with him two years ago.

Liam takes his muscles and his paycheck and his health insurance and his Medal of Honor for granted, but the local ladies do not.  

“Would that we could all marry our high school sweethearts,” Harry sighs. He’s not looking at Louis as he says it, but Louis’ looking at him.

Louis swallows and says, “The fuck, Styles? Still pining over Ms. Flack?”

“She’s still just as hot as ever. You gotta admit it, Louis,” Niall puts in. He picks up the whiskey and takes a swig. He’d brought it for himself mostly; they all know that.

Now, Harry’s eyes flick open and he meets Louis’ gaze. “I’ve moved on,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes think about the one that got away.”

Louis presses play on his iPod. Fuck.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who’s bringing his mom as his wedding date,” Louis says.

Harry’s hair swings around his face as he sits up. “You’d’ve brought your mom, if she wasn’t already coming with Dan. I don’t see you with any date at all.”

“I don’t believe in love,” Louis tells him. Maybe it’s not the right thing to say right before his buddy’s wedding, but it’s true. “There’s lust and there’s loneliness and that’s it.”

Harry reaches out and pinches his shin. “Says the guy who asked me to ship a specially made cake from Chicago for his girlfriend’s birthday last year.”

“Not my girlfriend anymore,” Louis says, smacking his hand away.

The alarm goes off on Andy’s phone.

“The fuck?” Niall says.

“Time to get dressed,” Andy announces. He’s apparently even more on top of things than Niall. Good thing, seeing as Louis’ gonna be late and underdressed for his own wedding, probably.

Like, if he ever gets married, which, actually, he’s not planning on it. After things blew up with Eleanor, he’d decided to give the relationship thing a break. A forever kind of break.

“SUIT UP, FUCKERS!” Harry shouts, hopping to his feet and grabbing his suit off the hanger.

Thank fucking god. Louis’ more than ready for him to cover the fuck up.

The grey tux Liam’d had him rent is probably the most expensive thing Louis’ ever put on his body. It’s also probably the most fitted thing he’s worn since he’d last donned those tight red pants he’d used for his ‘Will’ outfit.

It’s strange and not entirely comfortable.

As he inspects himself in the full length mirror, he catches Harry watching him, or, rather, watching his ass.

“Styles,” he says.

Harry blinks and flushes, gaze returning to his own buttons, which Liam’s insisting he do all the way to his throat, at least for the ceremony.

“Time for the good luck shots,” Niall announces. Louis can see his reflection, too, as he drags Liam over to the table with the whiskey, Andy following closely.

Louis fiddles with the fabric of his bow tie. He’s got no clue what he’s supposed to do with it, and he tries a few different loopy knots with no success.

“You’re gonna ruin the silk, jerking it around like that,” Harry says, as though he cares about the condition and longevity of Louis’ rented bowtie.

Louis shrugs. “I’ve never worn one of these before.”

“Watch,” Harry instructs and Louis does, following the movement of his long fingers in and out, over and around.

“Voila,” Harry says, tugging at the perfectly symmetrical loops of his own perfect bowtie.

Louis drops his hands. “Can you just do mine, too? I will literally never wear one of these again, ever. Not really worth the effort of learning all that shit.”

Harry laughs, nodding and stepping into Louis’ space. The scent of his cologne is strong, like he’s only just applied it, which, come to think of it, he probably has. Louis considers asking for a dab, but he’s not sure if he’d manage to come out of the night still sane with the smell of Harry constantly tickling his nose.

Harry frowns, brow wrinkling. Louis looks down. Harry’s not doing any better than he’d done.

Louis thinks about what he’d said earlier, about his high school sweetheart, and wonders if Harry’s pulse is racing as quickly as his own, if, like Louis, he can’t hear the other boys across the room over the pounding of his own heart.

Harry shakes his head and steps back. “I’m just not used to coming at it from this angle.” He twirls his finger. “Turn around again.”

Looks like he’s going to have to learn, after all. Louis turns back to the mirror and awaits instruction. But Harry doesn’t say anything more.

Instead, he steps up behind him and reaches around his neck, plucking the ends of the tie from Louis’ chest.

Louis can feel the heat of him through their shirts and feel his breath against his cheek. If he leaned backward, an inch or so, he imagines he’d feel the press Harry’s groin against the swell of his own ass.

“You okay?” Harry whispers. His lips are almost brushing Louis’ ears. Louis is getting hard and these damn dress pants will do nothing to hide it.

He nods, the motion causing Harry’s smooth cheek to rub against his beard.

Harry laughs. “That tickles.” And then, he says, “Does that look good to you?”

He’s finished knotting the tie. And it does look good, so Louis nods again and Harry dimples and smooths his hands down over Louis’ chest and stomach. “To me, too,” he whispers.

Louis’ stomach flips and he gasps. He’d cuss Harry out if he could catch his breath, he really would.

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Niall calls, startling Louis out of Harry’s arms. Niall’s eyebrows go up and he nods, excitedly. “Shit, nice. You do mine, too, Harry?” He gestures to the ends of his own bow tie hanging loose around his neck.

Harry’s eyes have returned to Louis’ bowtie and he reaches up to give it one last tug, presumably evening out the loops, before replying to Niall, “Sure, of course. Get over here.”

Louis is happy to trade places with Niall, adjusting himself as slyly as he can as he strides across the room to take a much needed drink.

“Y’all decent?” A feminine voice calls through the door.

“Harry’s always butt-ass naked,” Niall shouts back. Liam’d warned them to please wait until after the ceremony to get sloshed, but Niall never paid much attention to Liam’s warnings.

“That’s my mother-in-law!” Liam moans before replying, “Yeah, come in. We’re all clothed.”

The door opens and Mrs. Smith steps inside, Dale on her hip. He’s crying. Of course he is. He’s always fucking crying.

Louis’ helped raise six siblings and not one of them has ever cried as much this kid.

“He’s driving Sophia nuts. She’s almost in tears, too. Can I leave him in here?”

Dale pounds his fist against her chest, which has got to hurt. “I want my mom,” he shouts. “Take me back.”

“Sorry, Dale. Your mom still has a lot to do to get ready. Why don’t you sit in here with your new dad for a while,” Mrs. Smith tells him as she lowers him to the ground.

She shakes out her arms and smiles at Liam. “He’s way too old for this. Having a man around is gonna do him some good. I’ve gotta get back to Sophia, alright? I’m sure he’ll calm down in a minute or two. He always does.”

This is a lie. Last time Louis had dinner with Liam and Sophia, Dale’d cried for fifteen minutes straight. Fifteen minutes is a hell of a lot longer than ‘a minute or two.’

Harry drops down beside the kid. As far as Louis knows, he’s never met Dale. He has no idea what he’s getting into. “What’s up, bud? I’m Harry, what’s your name?”

Dale stops crying for about half a second and Mrs. Smith ducks out of the room with a whispered, “Thank you.”

As soon as the door closes behind her, Dale starts in again, hiding his face from Harry.

Harry looks up at Louis, puzzled. Louis bets he’s never met a kid he couldn’t charm before.

Liam walks across the room to stand over the two of them. “Why don’t you tell your new dad what’s wrong, Dale?”

Dale stops crying to glare at him. “You can’t marry my mom,” he says and stomps his foot.

Liam’s face goes white.

Fuck. If this was the problem, why in God’s name would Mrs. Smith even consider dropping the kid in here!?

“We talked about this, Dale. I’m going to move in and help you build a swingset out back and take you to school sometimes,” Liam tells him. His voice is soft, light and pleading, and his brows are drawing closer and closer and closer together.

“Mommy is a beautiful princess and she’s mine. She’s going to marry me.” Dale punctuates the statement with a growl.

“Let me handle this,” Louis says, nodding at Liam and squatting down beside Harry and Dale. “I have an idea.”

Dale looks at him and starts to cry again.

“I was about your age when my mom got married, too,” Louis tells him.

Dale bites his lip and sobs out a, “You were?”

Louis nods. Indeed, he was. “And I didn’t want her to either.”

Louis honestly can’t remember if he did or not, but he probably hadn’t. He never liked Mark much, and, even now, six years after he’d left, his mom happily settled with a newer, younger, wealthier husband, bile still rises in the back of Louis’ throat at the thought of him.

“But you know what?” Louis says.

Dale hiccups and shakes his head.

“I’m glad she did because that meant I got to have a bunch of little sisters to play with and they’re my favorite people in the whole world. Would you like some little sisters or brothers?”

Dale tilts his head. “Brothers, I think,” he says.

“Well, your mom needs Liam’s help to take care of them,” Louis explains. He doesn’t think four’s the right age for the birds and the bees.

(Once, he and Harry’d had an argument about the right age for The Talk. Louis only remembers because Harry’d insisted the earlier the better, saying, “I wish my mom’d started explaining to me that I came out of her vagina the day I was born.” Louis’d replied, “That’s stupid. You didn’t even know what a vagina was until you were ten.” Harry’d had an answer for that, too, of course. “I would’ve if she’d told me.” Louis doesn’t know how he always wins their fights with the most inane reasoning but he always fucking does.)

“I can help her. We don’t need Liam,” Dale argues.

Louis’ chest aches and his eyes sting. He shakes his head. “It’s hard, Dale. You guys are gonna need someone solid and responsible.”

God knows, Louis’ life would’ve been different, and better different, if his mom had found someone like Liam.

Dale doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks like he’s going to cry again.

“I bet,” Andy cuts in. “Liam will take you for lots of rides in his police car. You can probably help him catch some bad guys.”

Dale turns around to look wide-eyed at Liam and Andy. “I love the sirens,” he says. “Can you make the sirens go?”

Liam nods.

Thank god for Andy. Best man coming through, yet again.

Dale turns back to Louis, “If I can have brothers and ride in the police car, it might be okay for Liam to be my dad.”

Louis puts out his hand for high five and Dale smacks it. “Yeah, buddy.”

“You’re gonna make such a good dad someday,” Niall coos. Louis can’t tell if he’s joking or not. The soft expression on Harry’s face says the same thing, though, and his eyes are far away. Louis wonders if he’s imagining Louis with his own kids.

Well, they both can fuck off.

Louis’ never getting married.

~

White Christmas lights are draped across the ceiling of the main hall of the Lion’s Club and its beaten up circular tables are covered in white linen, very different than the dingy, old people look it has when Louis’ been in it for Friday Night Fish Frys.  

It’s a small crowd. Liam’s family isn’t large and they’re spread out across the country and the Catholic half of Sophia’s family, though local, is absent. They won’t support her marrying a second time. Louis suspects that their disapproval has less to do with a religious objection to divorce and more to do with the fact that they don’t want to buy her a second set of gifts.

Sophia and Liam don’t have assigned seating, not even a head table, and Louis finds himself beside Harry and Anne and across from his own mom and Dan.

His mom and Anne are best friends, have been since they’d driven back and forth to nursing school night classes downstate together when Harry and Louis were little boys. Louis thinks they still talk on the phone most days and share everything.

They ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ over Sophia’s dress, bemoaning their now outdated choices for their own weddings.

Then, once they’ve loaded their plates up at the buffet, they start in on the food. Can’t go wrong with the chicken, says Harry’s mom. Lion’s always do a good job catering these things, his own mom replies, and so on.

“This is the best wedding food I’ve ever had,” Harry pipes in. He’s not smiling and his plate is still mostly untouched.

“Really, really good,” he emphasizes around a forkful of potatoes.

Louis’ not sure if his compliments are honest or simply so dry that his sarcasm is imperceptible. Six years ago, hell, three years ago, Louis would’ve probably known.

Last weekend, Harry’d pinpointed the exact moment their relationship had fallen to pieces. After the trip when Louis’d met (and threatened) Harry’s now ex-boyfriend, Louis hadn’t really known how to talk to him.  

They’d hung out in Chicago before, but it’d had always been just the two of them. That weekend Harry’d introduced him to all kinds of new people, the boyfriend being only one. Seeing Harry cosy up to another man had confused Louis, but not nearly so much as seeing him with his college friends. Surrounded by these new friends, Harry’d seemed so comfortable in his skin.

Louis hadn’t even realized he’d been uncomfortable before.

He’d felt so happy that Harry was happy. But he’d also felt almost violently jealous that other people, not Louis, not the One Direction gang, but people from out there, from beyond Lake County, were making Harry relax and laugh and, sort of, sparkle. It’d always been Louis’ job to make Harry smile and he was sick with the thought that perhaps someone else could do his job better than he could.  

And, of course, it’s just as Louis’ thoughts are drifting away from Harry and Harry’s significant others that his mom says, “Harry, your mom told me that you were planning on bringing a date to the wedding? What happened to that?”

Louis’ gaze flies to Harry who, in turn, looks down at his plate. He pushes a green bean into a puddle of gravy and doesn’t answer.

“Yes, dear,” Anne presses. “You never did say what happened with Nick. I was looking forward to seeing him. Is everything okay with you two?”

Nick. Louis knows all about Nick. He’s seen him in practically every single Facebook picture Harry’s posted over the last six months. He’s older and handsome and funny and works at a radio station.

If pressed, Louis might admit to listening to his show once or twice, to vet him for Harry’s sake, but he’d never admit to liking it. Never.  

The thing is, he hadn’t been sure Harry’d been dating him, not until just this moment. They always looked vaguely platonic and Harry’d never said anything about a new boyfriend, not that Louis’d asked.

He probably shouldn’t’ve assumed Harry would tell him about his romantic life, not after what’d happened with the first guy.

“He, um. I mean, we decided this wasn’t the best time for him to come up. Didn’t want to make a scene or like detract from-” Harry gestures to the room at large “-Liam’s day. He was really nervous, anyway, about coming up here to a small town like this.”

“Oh Harry, I think that’s really wise and very kind,” Louis’ mom says. “People can be so awful and you wouldn’t want a fight to break out or something.”

“Mom,” Louis says. “No one’s gonna fight Harry just cause he brings a dude with him. People around here aren’t that dickish. Harry’s in the wedding party.”

His mother sets down her fork and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “But I’d imagine they’d want to hold hands and dance, you know? Like normal couples. People probably wouldn’t take well to that.”

“Oh, that’d be in real bad taste,” Dan agrees.

Louis leans back in chair and folds his arms over his chest. “You’re wrong. Everyone likes Harry. They’d be fine with it.”

“You overestimate people, Louis,” His mom shoots back. “You always think people are gonna be better than they are. You set your expectations too high.”

Where the fuck do you think I got that from? Louis does not say.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” Harry puts in. “He didn’t come, so we’ll never know.”

Louis’ eyes narrow at his mother. He wants to keep fighting, but, for Harry’s sake, he lets the subject drop.

~

“Thank you very much. I’m Niall Horan. Follow me on twitter @niallofficial,” Niall announces once the applause has died down after the special song he’s just performed in honor of Liam and Sophia.

“One more treat, though, before the iPod DJ takes over. I wondered if I might call my boys up to the stage for a mini reunion tour.

There is no stage and Niall has a lot of boys. Louis thinks that in the time since they’d graduated from high school, he’s been in at least five different bands.

When nobody moves, he leans into the mic. “Where’s One Direction at? Come on up, boys!

Liam jumps out of his seat, bounding toward Niall, and so, slowly, Harry and Louis follow suit. In a hushed whisper, Louis says, “We haven’t practiced. I haven’t sang in years.

Harry wraps an arm around his shoulder, guiding him forward. “I do karaoke all the time, but we’ll sound like shit without Zayn.”

As they make their way forward, Niall continues to speak into the mic. “Sophia, I don’t know if Liam’s ever told you this, but you’re the reason One Direction began.”

“I will not take responsibility for that,” Sophia calls back.

“Back when we were just young lads,” Niall begins.

“In the sap of our youth,” Harry shouts out, moving to stand beside him, hand still on Louis’ back.

“Wee, spry youngins,” Niall agrees. “Liam wanted to impress you and he knew that you loved Justin Timberlake. So he convinced us that we needed to make our own Lake County version of ‘NSYNC.”

“Naturally, I thought that was the best idea ever,” Louis adds, standing on his tip toes and leaning into the mic over Niall’s shoulder. “A terrible way to impress you and a wonderful way to entertain ourselves.”

Sophia nods at this, laughing and shaking her head. “I can’t believe you performed at my first… oh my god. Poor Liam!”

Harry nods. “Poor, poor Liam.”

“So I thought we’d sing you a version of that first song we ever did together.”

Harry throws his arms in the air and sort of jogs in place. “Not sure if I’ll be able to get into character in this tux.”

Louis takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax. No one in this room is going to care if he sounds like shit. When he sounds like shit, that is, because he’s definitely going to sound like shit.

Plastering on a grin, he pops a hip, raises a brow, and quips to Harry, “I’d’ve of worn suspenders with this get-up if I’d’ve known.”

Harry waggles his brows and looks out at the fifty or so amused faces. “You hear that ladies? …and gentlemen, I suppose… Louis still owns his suspenders.”

Harry’s mom catcalls, “AYYYYY!”

Jesus Christ.

Their performance is awful.

Louis, indeed, does sing like shit, but that’s alright because the mic only ends up in the right hands about half the time. Niall almost loses it to fits of laughter three times, and he’s the one playing the guitar.

And Harry’s so close, pressed against Louis shoulder to shoulder, still smelling of that potent cologne, but now also of sweat and booze.

Louis remembers almost instinctively how he’d used to turn his body and smile and wink and flirt with him, when he was pretending to be Will. He tempers the amount of attention he gives Harry tonight, though. It’s weird now, knowing that Harry actually is gay (and that a small part of Louis is, too.)

During the final chorus, Sophia and two of her bridesmaids come up and start dancing with them. Sophia grabs Liam’s arms and forces him to twirl her around, the very bottom of her mermaid-ish gown fanning out around her ankles. The other girls sally up to Harry and he gives them each a hand and a grin.

As Niall strums out the last couple of bars, one of them moves closer to Harry, to almost grind against him, and over her shoulder, Harry throws Louis a panicked grimace.

He’s saved by Niall’s words, “Thank you, everyone, for playing along. Thank you, especially, to Sophia and Liam, may you always find each other beautiful.”

“I find you beautiful,” Harry mouths to Louis and Louis rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

~

The river is high and fast and loud this time of year and the rush of it blocks out the noise from the party still raging in the Hall behind him. If Louis were a few inches taller, he could easily dip his feet into it from where he’s sitting on the boardwalk.

It’s cold, too cold for that, and Louis pulls his suit jacket more tightly around himself. He can’t wait till summer. Smoking is easier in the summer, when it’s less cold outside, and Louis needs his cigarettes, especially at times like this.

Harry wouldn’t stop smiling at him, and the little shimmies and brow raises and giggles he liked to send were increasing with every drink. If that kid didn’t calm the fuck down people would start to notice and to wonder.

Fuck, Louis’ mom would probably ask him about it tomorrow.

“Hey, Lou.”

Louis whirls around. Harry’s standing at the top of the stairs, the light from the big bay windows behind him casting him in shadow. He’s not wearing a jacket and his bow tie hangs loose around his neck.

“Can I join you?” he asks.

“I’m smoking,” Louis informs him. “I know you hate that.”

“’s okay,” Harry says, beginning to make his way down the steps. “I don’t mind so much when I’m drunk.”

He sits down beside Louis with a heavy thump. “And I am drunk.”

He’s too close. He’s always too close. He pulls Louis’ free arm around his shoulder and burrows into Louis’ neck. “’M cold,” he says.

“You smell like the bottom of an empty keg,” Louis informs him. It’s only half true. He also smells like he always does, delicious and familiar.

“I’m not getting married in May,” he tells Louis. “Not warm enough.”

Louis tugs him tighter to his side. He’s an idiot for not wearing a coat.

“I think I’d like an early September wedding, when the water’s warm and the fucking tourists have gone home,” Louis says.

He and Eleanor had talked about it a few times. She’d been insistent that June was best, but Louis was partial to the end of summer and beginning of autumn.

“I think February would be good,” Harry says. “It’d be a test. All the friends and family that showed up, I’d know they really cared about me.”

Louis chuckles. “I thought you said May was too cold.”

“May’s confusing. Hot sometimes, then cold again. With February, you know what you’re getting,” Harry explains.

“No way in hell would you do a winter wedding. You couldn’t be naked enough,” Louis protests. This probably isn’t true. Harry finds a way and a reason to strip in all kinds of conditions. Louis remembers one New Year’s Eve in high school when they’d both been invited to a party thrown by some rich kid in Glen River with a hot tub. Harry’d amused himself all evening jumping into snow banks, then running inside to climb back into the boiling tub.  Louis’d tried to join him, but had decided he liked his balls would rather not have to have them removed due to frostbite.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Louis. Naked’s for the honeymoon,” Harry informs him, waggling his eyebrows. At Louis’ eye roll, he buries his face in Louis’ neck again.

Louis thinks about Harry on his honeymoon, crawling across the bed to his husband, dimples out, cock and balls jiggling between his legs. He closes his eyes and lets himself breathe in the apple scent of Harry’s shampoo.

“Where would you want to go on your honeymoon?” Harry asks, his breath tickling the hair on the nape of Louis’ neck.

“I was serious, earlier. I’m never getting married,” he replies.

He doesn’t see the point. He can’t imagine himself happy with any woman in Lake County and he’s pretty sure he knows almost all of them. He’ll take care of his nieces and nephews, and bring his mom back home after Dan (and whoever comes next) inevitably leaves her by the wayside.

“But if you did, where would you want to go?” Harry persists.

Louis stubs out his cigarette on the wood beside him and then tosses the butt into the river.

“I’ve never been to the ocean. Or anywhere tropical. Can you imagine? Sunshine in January. Definitely somewhere south- maybe Hawaii. I think I’d like to try surfing.” He was pretty good at windsurfing, the one time he’d done it.

Harry nods, nose cold against Louis’ jaw. “That’s what I think I’d want, too. I want to swim with dolphins.”

“It’s expensive, that kind of shit. Even if I did get married, I probably would have go to somewhere local, like those two.” He tips his head back toward the Hall. Liam and Sophia are heading to a cabin on Lake Michigan the next morning and it’s only costing them $300 for the whole week, or at least that’s what Liam’d boasted.

“You gotta marry rich. Someone with an MBA, like me,” Harry tells him.

Someone like me, Louis repeats to himself. He really, really doesn’t think Harry’s as over his high school crush on Louis as he’d suggested earlier.

“Whatever,” Louis says. “You’re dirt poor, jobless, and in debt. I could do a hell of a lot better than you.”

“Hey,” Harry whines. “I’ve got a great job lined up. It just hasn’t started, yet.”

Louis laughs, “That’s what they all say, Styles.”

Harry takes a deep breath, deep enough that Louis feels the weight of it in his own body. Then he says, “It’s about time for us to take care of my groomsman responsibilities.”

Louis stiffens. “I thought your only job was to show up.”

Harry cackles, pulling away and rolling his shoulders. “That’s the only job Liam gave me. But I checked with Andy and he doesn’t have any plans for the getaway car. Good thing I’m here.”

Louis follows Harry into the parking lot and over to Liam’s relatively new F150. Harry’s mom’s tiny Ford Fiesta is parked beside it and Harry pops the hatch and gestures for Louis to look inside.

A helium tank, a bag of balloons, window paint, streamers, and about a dozen cans of silly string.

“Incredible. You know what you’re doing, here,” Louis admires. “Remind me not to invite you to be one of my groomsmen.”

“I don’t want to be one of your groomsmen,” Harry replies. “And anyway, I thought you just said you weren’t getting married. Like, ever.”

Louis gives him a little shove. “You’re right. I’m not.”

“Sure, you’re not. I know you’re a romantic at heart.” He pulls the helium cannister out and hands it to Louis. “You do the balloons.”

Liam’s left the cab open and Louis fills it easily with balloon after balloon. Meanwhile, Harry draws hearts and stars all over the sides. Across the back window he scrawls, Just Married and Fabulous!

The night sky above them feels huge and the noise from the party drifts out, filling the air all around. Occasionally, Louis catches a glimpse of Harry mouthing the words to a song or bobbing his head to the beat.

Eventually, Harry comes up behind him and wraps his freezing fingers around Louis’ wrist. “Stop. I have one more thing I want to put in here. Leave a little room.”

He shows Louis a shoebox and smirking says, “They’ll need this, for sure.”

“Shoes?” Louis says doubtfully.

Harry opens it. Inside is an assortment of toys, sex toys, a pair of leather handcuffs, a whip, multiple dildos, a silk rope, and several little electronic gizmos that Louis can’t identify.

“What the fuck?”

“Fun, right?” Harry says.

“Do you even know what all that is?” Louis asks, doubtfully. Louis has had a good amount of sex in his life and some of it, he thought, could be considered pretty kinky. For example, Eleanor liked to do it in the middle of the lake and sometimes they’d would switch positions and he’d come in from behind and smack her ass.

He’s never used handcuffs or dildos before, though.

“Hell, yeah,” Harry replies. “My own collection is about three times the size of this one. My roommate my sophomore year in college sold this shit at parties and stuff. You haven’t lived till you’ve sucked cock with nipple clamps on and a vibrating dildo up your ass.”

“Shit, Harry,” Louis coughs, trying vainly not to picture Harry just like that. “Who even are you?” He follows the question with a choked laugh.  Cause he means it as a joke.  

But also it’s not a joke, at all. He has no idea who this kid is.

~

Louis lifts the case of beer out of his trunk and hauls it down the stairs to the beach. His mother’d texted an hour ago telling him that if he showed up to the Annual Anne and Jay Memorial Day Cookout, he needed to bring a dish to pass. He’s living on his own and a real adult, apparently.

He’s proud to say that his cupboard is full. Unfortunately, it’s all energy drinks, half-eaten bags of potato chips, and cans of Campbell’s soup.

Anyway, he thinks Robin drinks Miller Light, and it’s definitely Lottie and Joe’s beer of choice, so his mom can’t really fault him.

Also, he’s been working all weekend, as cottagers have been calling in Robin to do last minute paint jobs before the summer really kicks into gear. Louis’ put in 35 hours in the last three days; he hasn’t had time to drive into Lakeland for real groceries.

He’s surprised to see Harry at the grill, shirtless, but wearing basketball shorts that fall below his knees, much more modest than his usual summer getup.

And, also, he’s here in Edwardsville.

Louis’d been under the impression that he was heading back to Chicago after the wedding. He’d even said something about being excited to return to his scented candles and organic milk.

Louis deposits a few cans of beer into the already mostly full cooler beside him and then smacks Harry across the back hard enough that his fingers sting.

“Shit, Louis,” Harry says, shoulders jerking up.

“Did I scare you?” Louis asks, pleased that he must’ve.

“I’m fucking sunburned, you asshole,” Harry replies, his eyes staying on the burgers in front of him.

He is, Louis realizes. Louis’ palm has left a fading white print across the pink. His stomach sinks to his toes. He hadn’t meant to hurt Harry.

“I’m surprised to see you. I thought-” Louis says, hoping it’ll explain the enthusiastic thumping.

But Harry cuts him off before he can finish. “I’m surprised to see you. You’re late.”

“Beer, honey? Really?” His mom asks, looking up the from the lawn chair she’s spread out in a few feet away. She doesn’t drink it anymore, he knows, doesn’t want to put on weight.

“We’re not all watching our figures like you and Harry,” He tells her, walking over and leaning down for a one armed hug.

Harry lifts a Bud Light in his direction. “I’m drinking beer, Lou, just for you.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. He does not drink Bud Light unless it’s the only option. He’s a Miller guy and he will be till he dies.

“You could’ve brought some asparagus from the back garden,” His mom says.

Louis shakes his head. “Haven’t really taken care of the garden.”

She sighs. “Louis, I asked you to do that for me.”

“Look,” Louis says. “If you wanted the garden kept up, or anything about the farm, you shouldn’t’ve moved out.”

He keeps his tone light and finishes the statement with a little chuckle, like it’s a joke.

It isn’t a joke.

They’ve had this argument before and Louis always loses. Dan’s house on Pine Lake is huge and gorgeous and on Pine Lake.  It’s worth about four or five times as much as the old farmhouse for a reason.

But the Farmhouse is their home; it’s where Louis and Lottie and Fizzy grew up. It’s where his mom grew up, too, and her dad before her. He can’t help but feel like she’s sort of deserted it. And him.

“I can help you whip it into shape,” Harry suggests, flipping a burger. “I’ve got a green thumb.”

“You don’t,” Louis tells him. “And also you live in Chicago.”

Harry grins. “Not this summer. I decided to sublet my apartment till October when my job starts. I’m gonna live at home and save some cash.”

“You’re here… all summer?” Louis asks. Lots of kids come home for the summer, but never Harry. Harry hasn’t stayed in Edwardsville for more than a week at a time since he’d graduated high school.

Harry nods and begins to slide the burgers off the grill onto a plate.

“Dinner’s ready!” Louis’ mom calls and everyone gathers around the long picnic table Anne has set.

Louis counts ten different kinds of salad and four different kinds of meats, so he refuses to feel guilty about bringing only beer.

He manages to wedge himself safely between Lottie and Fizzy, only to have Harry slide in across from him, kicking at his feet under the table.

“You should’ve seen what Harry was wearing when we got here,” Fizzy says, biting into something leafy and green. “I think mom’s going to have to finally give in and have the talk with Daisy and Phoebe when we get home.”

“What?” Louis asks, not really wanting to know. Harry often swims and suns naked; Louis’ walked down these stairs to that sight more times than he can count.

“An American flag speedo!” Lottie says. “High fashion!” Beside her, her husband Joe makes a retching noise.

“Well, it’s his own beach. He can wear whatever the hell he wants,” Louis says, directing his words at Joe. “It sounds… festive.”

“Thank you, Louis,” Harry says, beaming.

“There are some things I don’t need to see and the outline of Harry Styles’ dick is one of them.” Joe folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head.

“There are children around, Joe,” Fizzy hisses. She’s not one of them anymore, Louis realizes. His little sister is eighteen. He’s getting very old.

“This potato salad is incredible. Are these sweet potatoes? I’ve never had it like this before and the noodle one, too. So good. Where did you get these recipes, Anne?” Louis’ mother asks these questions much louder than necessary.

Louis suspects she’s overheard the conversation about Harry’s dick and is trying to derail it before her older set of twins is exposed to too much too fast. She’s always babied them. At fourteen, Louis suspects they already know all about dicks.

Not that he’s eager to keep talking about his friend’s cock, either.

“Harry made them,” Anne replies, equally loud. “He’s become quite the chef since he left home.”

“Oh, I remember that dip you brought to Christmas last year,” Lottie puts in. “So good!” Louis thinks she wishes she was included more often in the mom conversations.

The way Harry glows at the compliment, Louis thinks he might wish he was, too.

~

Later, Harry follows Louis up to the house, both of them laden with dirty dishes, Robin’s dog nipping at their heels. Harry’s chattering away about some kid from Glen River that he knows that Joe also knows. Louis can’t be bothered to point out that they are in a small town so of course they all know the same damn people.

He can’t be bothered to tease Harry about this because he’s still thinking about Harry staying here, in Edwardsville, for the whole summer.

“Why are you here, really? It’s not about the money, not if your new job is as sweet as your mom’s been saying,” Louis asks again.

Harry laughs. “My mom’s bragging. It’s an entry level job, for sure. But it’s not really about that. After the wedding, I just wanted to.”

“You remembered how great we are, didn’t you? Made you start to miss us, eh?” Louis ribs, trying to cut the tension Harry’s earnestness has pulled tight between them.

Harry doesn’t play along though. Instead, he tilts his head, “I never forgot you, Louis. I’ve always missed you.”

Louis toes open the door to the house. Keeping his tone light and playful, he replies, “Sure you have...”

Because it’s easier not to believe him.

~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery Chapter Specific Warnings: ‘hippie’ as a slur ???, actually it’s a pretty chill chapter aside from the alcohol and the low-key, squirmy homophobia and a whole lot of wedding bullshit. 
> 
> My internet access will be spotty from Christmas Eve through January 3, so expect 'June 2015' to go up two weeks from today! Happy Holidays to all celebrating!!!!


	3. June 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I'm back from holiday break and plan to continue with weekly updates. I really, _really_ love this chapter and I hope you do, too. :) 
> 
> Spoilery chapter specific warnings in the endnotes, as usual.

 

Louis finishes his cigarette at the top of the steps before anyone at the bottom has caught sight of him. Even from a distance with only the dim light of the fire, Louis can pick out and name everyone that’s shown up. Niall, Cara, Kendall, Harry, Eleanor, and Max.

A good crowd for a Friday night. Or, rather, a big crowd. Louis’ not really not a fan of Max and he and Eleanor don’t really talk anymore, not since they broke up in December, even if they both swear that there’s no hard feelings.

Niall’s strumming on his guitar and humming to himself while the rest of the group chatters away. As Louis makes his way down the stairs, he sees the glint of beer cans in fists and stacked up by the sides of chairs.

Thank god. Louis could use a drink.

“You’re late,” Harry says. He’s the first to see Louis, even though he’s mostly facing the lake, his back to the bluff. He must’ve been looking.

“Is there any beer left?” Louis asks and Harry nods. “Then, I’m right on time.”

“Louis,” Cara greets, offering him a can from the cooler at her side. She’s sitting next to Harry, her chair pulled closer than is probably necessary.

Louis cracks the Bud Light- he’ll be forever disappointed in Harry’s tendency to buy the best deal and not the best beer (Miller, obviously)- and drops into an empty chair on the other side of Harry. Smoke wafts up stinging his eyes and it’s clear why no one’s sat here. Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposes, moving as close to Harry as he can.  

“Had a rough day on the job?” Max asks. Fucking Max. His hand rests high on Eleanor’s thigh. Louis’d’ve sworn the kid was gayer than Harry.

Hell, maybe Eleanor has a type.

“Yeah, this asshole Robin’s got us working for over on Johnson Road decided that he wanted his deck stained after we’d covered half of it in primer. Too fucking late, buddy.”

Louis knows he sounds grumpy about it, and he _is_ grumpy about the asshole cottager. However, business has been good for Robin so far this summer, which has meant more work for Louis and that’s ultimately meant enough money to buy groceries and keep the lights on at the Farmhouse without crawling to his mom and Dan to bail him out. Again.  

“You been out there with him, Harry?” Cara asks. It’s a reasonable question, seeing Robin’s his stepdad and all.

“No,” Harry says. “Had to do a few small projects for my job in Chicago.”

While that might be true, Louis also knows that Harry and Robin don’t much get along on the worksite. Harry can spend hours, _days even_ , on the corners and edging in _one_ room and while he does a wonderful job, his pace drives Robin fucking nuts.

“What are you doing in Chicago? I’ve been surprised to see you up here this much. I thought you were doing well down there and, I mean, people don’t really come back here unless they’re, like, not, I guess.” Eleanor smiles at Harry as she asks. Her hand is now linked with Max’s.

Louis wonders if Harry will answer. Harry’s never liked her, so it’s strange that she’s here at all. She’s friends with Niall and Cara, though, so maybe not _that_ strange.

When Harry remains quiet, even after several long seconds, Louis presses, because he’s curious, too, “Yeah. What _are_ you doing? I thought whatever it was didn’t start till October.”

Harry twists a ring ‘round his finger. “I’m running the promotional campaign for my friend Nick’s new radio show. It starts in January, so we’ve got a few projects now, but the big push will be in the fall, yeah.”

Fucking _Nick_. Louis bites back a caustic comment about the dangers of sleeping with coworkers- this spring he hadn’t been able to go back to his relatively cushy weekend caddy job at the golf course, not after things went sour with Eleanor- because he knows that now is not the time or place.

But Harry better not think he’s gonna get away without an earful. This sounds like a shit idea.

“I’ve been thinking about going to Chicago in the fall,” Cara says. Her eyes have barely left Harry’s face the whole evening.

Harry smiles at her. “Yeah?”

“Be nice to get out, you know? Maybe I’ll work as a waitress in the city for a while, see if I can save up enough to go to school. I’d love to get away from my dad,” she explains.

Wouldn’t they all. The asshole pastor doesn’t have anything good to say about anyone aside from Jesus.  

Harry nods. “The city’s great,” he says, but he doesn’t put much feeling into his words. Louis’ heard him say this a thousand times, and he’s never quite sure Harry means it. Like, Louis is sure Harry loves his life in Chicago, but he’s not sure he loves the city itself.

Well, Louis finds the city _thrilling_ and he wishes, _fuck does he wish,_ that he’d been able to get out, too.

“Friend’ve mine’s playing a gig there next month,” Niall says, he hasn’t stopped strumming his guitar since Louis’d sat down.

“Are you gonna play with him?” Harry asks.

“Fucking waste of talent to have you up here, where the only people who hear you are those of us lucky enough to be invited to the same campfires as you.” Louis thinks Niall is legitimately talented, that he has a chance to make something of himself, if he’d just _take_ it.

“Nah. Been trying to convince Greg to let me run an open mic once a week at the bar, but he thinks that’d drive the regulars away.” Niall plucks out a sad few notes and they linger in the air after he’s spoken.

“I love it! What a good idea!” Harry exclaims. “You were just saying that you needed to think of some new marketing techniques. You were literally _just_ picking my brain for ideas! That’s a _great_ one!”

“Who would perform at it, anyway?” Louis asks. Lake County is home to Niall’s current band, the Whiskey Kids; a barband consisting of a few of Robin’s old friends who call themselves The Destroyers; and a high school boy with a guitar whose repertoire includes Wonderwall and Shake It Off.

Niall shrugs. “You?” he suggests.

Louis laughs. Aside from all the stuff with One Direction, _which has always been a joke_ and is also not really a thing anymore despite whatever the fuck happened at Liam’s wedding, the last time Louis performed in front of people was when he was eleven with Lottie and the three other kids that made up the Lutheran church’s children’s choir. “Don’t count on it.”

“Liam could rap.” He’s stopped strumming

“That would be baller,” Harry agrees. He’s very agreeable tonight. He agrees that Liam can rap (not true) and that an open mic is a good idea (it isn’t) and that Cara should move to Chicago (she _definitely_ shouldn’t).

Louis, on the other hand, feels very disagreeable. “Liam can’t rap for shit.”

“Remember the time he tried on that One Direction song,” Eleanor puts in.

“No,” Louis replies, not because he doesn’t but because he doesn’t want to.

“We should do that one next weekend,” Niall says.

“What?” Harry asks. “We should do what?”

“We should perform Better Than Words at the Strawberry Festival. It’d be a good opener. Obviously, Liam won’t rap. That didn’t work for us. But I think it should definitely be part of the set.” Niall says all this in a contemplative tone, talking to himself more than anyone else. He’s picked up strumming again.

“What set? Don’t fuck with me, Niall. I haven’t agreed to do shit,” Louis says. He hasn’t heard a whisper of a ‘set’ at the Strawberry Festival. He’d assumed Niall’s band would headline and the Destroyers would open for them. That’d been the line-up for the last two years. Why the fuck would it change now?

“You actually signed us up!” Harry sounds delighted and not _that_ surprised. Not as surprised as Louis feels.

“Fucking hell, Niall. I’m not doing it. We haven’t performed in _years_. Literally, _years_.” Louis is not performing. Not in front of his family and friends and neighbors. He’s an adult. Not a stupid kid, desperate for the attention, the outlet.

He’s matured. This isn’t- He doesn’t want to-

He thinks about the Will outfit.  It’s on a hanger in the back of his closet, red suspenders dangling to the floor. He sees it in there, on occasion, but he never pulls it out.

“Come on, Louis,” Harry knocks at his arm with his beer can. “It’ll be fun. We can rehearse beforehand.”

Louis looks over at him. The firelight casts his face in a strange orange glow. And Louis’ heart almost stops as a wave of nostalgia washes over him.

This is Louis’ Harry.

As lovely as he’s been in those fancy, flowered shirts and as tantalizing as his bare limbs are when he’s stripped down to his Team USA speedo, this Harry, swallowed up in a old grey and orange Lakers track hoodie with his dark curls sticking out the edges of his Packers beanie, this is Louis’ Harry.

“I don’t know,” he hears himself say. It’s not the firm ‘no’ he intends.

“Liam’s agreed. He’s even got some ideas for a new song,” Harry presses. His eyes are dancing and his dimples are popping. Already. He knows he’s won.

“Fucking fine. But we are rehearsing at least three times. And for at least a couple hours each time. We haven’t- we _sucked_ at Liam’s wedding.” Louis _hates_ looking like an idiot.

“Well, we’ll all be there, at the rehearsals,” Harry says, with a shrug. He shares _a look_ with Cara who giggles. Which makes Kendall also giggle.

Louis does not like being laughed at. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“ _We’ve_ been here for at least two hours. Seeing as Harry invited us all over at 8:30ish and it’s now almost _eleven_.” Eleanor uses her accusing, ‘I told you so’ tone, a tone with which Louis is very familiar.

He knows what she’s getting at. He _knows_ he’s always fucking late. He tries. He really, really does. Still, he shoots back, “Only eleven? The party’s just getting started.”

On cue, Kendall yawns. And then Cara, and then Niall and Max.

“You all are some old-ass motherfuckers if you’re ready for bed at _eleven_ ,” Louis tells them. Honestly, if he were getting up at five am tomorrow, like he knows all these kids probably are to work at the golf course at Pine Woods, Louis probably wouldn’t have come at all.

But he’s not. He’s got the day off. Or rather, he’s taking the day off from working with Robin to get some work done around the farm.

“I’m not going to bed yet,” Harry informs him. “What about you, Niall?”

Niall’s eyes are on Cara and Kendall who’ve stood up and are stretching. Kendall drops down to pat the ground looking for her keys.

“I’d stay, Harry, but Kendall’s my ride.” Cara winks and Harry licks his lips.

“I could give you-” Niall begins

“Found them,” Kendall announces. Then, to Niall, she says, “Cara has to be at Pine Woods at 6 tomorrow. We both do. She’s coming home.”

He wonders idly if they’ve moved up enough in the world to have a place of their own, if he’s the only one here still mooching off his mom.

“We’ve got to head out, too,” Eleanor says, her hand is linked with Max’s. Why did they even come? Jesus christ.

He could have sworn Eleanor hated PDA. That’s what she’d always told Louis, anyway. Not that he’d minded holding back.

Watching the four of them march up the stairs, Louis says, “Niall, what’ll it be? Are you a wuss, going to bed before midnight like a fucking grandpa, or are you gonna stick it out?”

Niall strums two minor chords and then a major. “Gotta work a double tomorrow, since I took off tonight, a _Friday_ night, to sit around and wait for your ass to show up.”

“Lame,” Harry says, but Louis doesn’t think he sounds too put out. Well, they’ve supposedly already been down here for a couple of hours.

“Hey, at least I’m not Liam.” Niall punctuates the statement by throwing back the rest of his beer.

“Where is that fucker?” Louis asks. Liam never misses a good bonfire.

“Well, now that he’s _married_ , and has a child, he can’t be tromping off to shoot the shit with us at any time of the day or night. Or so he said,” Niall explains.

“It was family game night. That’s what he told me.” Harry elbows Louis. “I asked if we could all come over there instead, but he said they didn’t have enough Candyland characters for everyone.”

~

So suddenly it’s just the two of them. Louis hadn’t been paying attention before, but now he sees that Harry’s let the fire dwindle to embers.

He nods toward the woodpile, rubbing his hands together. It’s not that cold yet, and he’s wearing a fleece, but the temperature’s dropping. “Should I put another on?”

Harry doesn’t answer, eyes focused on the glowing pile of ash. He lifts his bottle of Bud Light to his lips and takes a long sip. Then, he looks out at the lake.

Louis follows his gaze. The water is still, an opaque layer of glass, reflecting the outdoor lights from the few homes around the lake, clear and bright. It’s a small lake, but not too small. Every year for Edwardsville Days they used to run ‘round it. Adding the three block jog to the schoolgrounds makes it a perfect 15K and Harry, gangly and uncoordinated as he is, has _always_ won.

“Let’s go out on the dock,” Harry suggests.  “Haven’t really been out there since Tuesday.”

Louis’d come out earlier in the week and helped him and Robin get it in. He figures he owes the labor somewhere, as he’s in and out of lakes all summer. The farm’s not on lakefront property and Dan hires someone to unfold his elaborate aluminum contraption over on Pine Lake.

Louis nods, standing and stretching.  “When are you putting the pontoon in?”

As they walk out over the water, the wooden boards creak beneath them. “I dunno. Robin wants someone to look at the engine. He couldn’t get it to start at the end of last summer.”

“That’s cause he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. His touch is shit,” Louis replies. He’s not trying to be rude. Some people can start a boat. Others can’t. Robin’s in the latter group, nothing to be ashamed of. Zayn and Niall are right there with him.

Harry laughs. “That’s what I said.”

Harry is a boat whisperer. Boats start for him on the first try, without fail, every damn time.

He’s also amazing at watersports, skiing, wakeboarding, tubing. He’s amazing at everything, actually, Louis thinks. Harry lives a charmed life. Louis would be jealous if he wasn’t so damn fond of Harry.

They reach the end of the dock. Louis kicks the fake owl statue perched on the edge and it rattles a little in place. The ugly fucker does not fit with Anne’s neat and clean yacht club aesthetic, but Robin’s explained to him that it keeps the ducks from hanging out and shitting, which is, in the end, better for everyone.

Harry slides off his sandals, drops down, and dips his feet into the water.  “It’s so warm,” he says.

Curious, Louis’ follows suit, but he doesn’t get more than a toe in before he’s pulling his foot up and under himself. “Fuck. That’s freezing. You dick.” He reaches over and twists Harry’s nipple.

He expects Harry to squeal. Harry doesn’t, though. The sound he emits is lower, somewhere between a moan and a growl. He grabs Louis’ wrist and wraps his fingers tightly around it. “Don’t,” he says, roughly.  And then, “I wasn’t shitting you, anyway. This is warm, compared to how cool it was on Memorial Day and hella warm compared to Lake Michigan.”

“Whatever, Big City Boy,” Louis says. “No way in hell am I getting in, not for a couple of weeks, at least.”

He moves himself backward, away from the water and flops onto his back. It’s especially dark tonight, without a moon, and the stars gleam boldly, as if in defiance of the blackness threatening to overwhelm the sky.

Harry scoots backward, too, and then lies down so that his shoulders line up with Louis’ and only his toes poke off the dock.

“Shit,” he whispers.

“What?”

“I just, I miss this. You forget, you know, that there are so many stars.” Harry’s voice stays low.

Louis taps his fingers against the dock.

He finds the city exciting; he couldn’t get enough of it the few times he’s been. The neverending press of people passing on the streets, the soaring lines of the buildings sending his gaze straight up to the sky, the noise of the cars beside him and the trains above- it had taken his breath away.

But Louis’ not sure he’d be able to give this up. The stars, well, Harry’s right, they’re special, a part of him.

“Remember when Niall bet us that he could count them,” Harry murmurs.

Louis laughs. “That arrogant motherfucker. He tried, too.”

“He was at it for hours.” Harry shifts and the movement brings the edges of their pinkies into contact.

Louis’ pulse picks up. “Bet you don’t have any friends that fucking dumb in Chicago.”

Harry’s pinky brushes his, the movement so minute that it might have been an accident. Hell, Louis might’ve imagined it.

“Nope,” Harry agrees. “I’ve got a few friends who can play music. But no one so stupidly confident as Niall.”

“What about a Liam? Got anyone in Chicago who rocks a buzz cut and wears a gun and a badge?” He’s sure as shit Harry’s not friends with any other cops.

Louis himself wouldn’t be, either, if he hadn’t been friends with Liam from before.

“I know a dude that’s got equally impressive pecs, but I’ve never seen him smash a beer can against his forehead.”

Louis cackles. That had been an impressive feat, but it had also left a large (and hilarious) scrape on the top of his nose that he’d had to explain to away to his boss and his mother the next day.

“What about…” This is a stupid game he’s playing, asking Harry to compare his life in Chicago to the life he could have here. But he keeps on, nonetheless. “What about someone like me?”

“Well, Nick…” Harry begins and blood roars in Louis’ ears. What. The. Fuck.

Then, Harry’s pinky covers Louis’.  “No, nevermind. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“Not even Nick?” Louis asks. Fuck, he’s so transparent.

“Nick’s not like you. He’s funny and smart, but he can’t hold a shotgun or sink a basket from half court or, like, make tiny children and elderly ladies laugh at the same jokes.” Harry’s voice is so soft.

“Funny and smart?” Louis says. “Doesn’t sound a bit like me.”

Harry sighs and Louis feels the rhythm of it against his shoulder. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Lou.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’m about twelve fucking times more interesting than that douchebag,” Louis lies. “Or any other asshole you’ve met in the Big City. I just wanted to make sure you _also_ realized it.”

Louis keeps his eyes on the stars so he hears and feels Harry roll toward him. He doesn’t see it, though the temptation to mimic the motion builds like a steady and persistent itch with each passing moment.

“I really do miss this. Miss _you_ ,” Harry insists. “I love Chicago. It’s allowed me to really, like, _grow_ and figure out who I am.  But I miss home.”

“Really? Cause you don’t act like it.” And, _fuck,_ does Louis sound _bitter_ about that, more bitter than he feels, maybe even.

Although, he thinks as he feels Harry’s breath on his cheek- so goddamn close, maybe not. Maybe he just sounds sad.

“I can’t be _me,_ here, Louis. You know that,” Harry explains. “And it’s not like there’s a lot of work, anyway.  Like, I mean, just last summer, you were talking about getting out, too. Wouldn’t you leave, if you could?”

 _If you could_. Louis appreciates Harry’s word choice. He’s always been grateful that Harry never seemed to blame him for not leaving for Chicago with him, back when he might’ve had the chance.

Harry got it. He got that Louis needed to be there for his mom and his sisters. He got that the choice was, and perhaps always would be, between keeping the farm and going away to school.

He sometimes indicates that he wouldn’t have made the same choice, but he still understands that it is a choice, and a difficult one for Louis and his family.

“I don’t know,” Louis says. The longer he stays, the more difficulty he has imagining he’ll ever leave. He imagines it must but the opposite for Harry. The longer he stays away, the harder it must be to imagine coming home.

Especially, given, well, given Harry’s _circumstances_.

“Yeah, people don’t understand why I’d want to spend the summer here,” Harry says. “One of my friends legitimately thought I was kidding about it. Like she called me a week after I told her, inviting me out to dinner because she 100% thought that I’d been making a really dry joke.” Harry sounds amazed at this. But Louis isn’t. His fucking Chicago friends always struck Louis like they thought they (and Harry) were better than this place.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Louis says, finally giving in and rolling onto his side to look into Harry’s eyes. He can’t really see much of them, in the dark, but they shine a bit, as they gaze straight back at him.

He wasn’t sure having Harry around would be a good thing. And, in the end, it might not be, what with Louis’ heart racing and his eyes actively resisting the pull downward to look at Harry’s lips.

Harry sighs and rolls onto his back again.  “Me too,” he says.

~

All the booths of photographs look the same to Louis.  And yet large packs of people are gathered around the stretched canvases, all covered with the same blue and green scenery of the northwoods that surround them, oohing and aahing, inquiring about pricing and online availability and shipping. Even his mom, who’s backyard _is_ the northwoods, has to stop and admire every goddamn display.

Louis does not like the Art Fair.

He does love his sisters and his mother and he does love going with them to the _fair_ fair- with rides and games and greasy food- and, apparently, this year, they need to stop to pick up ‘a little something’ for Dan’s mom’s first.

“I just think it’d be nice for them to have something from up here for their home in Arizona, a nice photo of one of the lakes, maybe,” Louis’ mom explains. “They’re visiting next week and it’ll be Leslie’s birthday.”

Louis nods, even though he doesn’t care, at all, about Leslie or Dan or art.

“Lou!” He hears his name, and, relieved for a distraction, whips around to see Harry in an apron, standing at the corner of one of the tents. He’s wearing a chef’s hat and a huge grin.

Louis walks over to him, aware of the twins close on his heals. Behind Harry, he sees all kinds of homemade baked goods, brownies and cookies and candies, and a big hand drawn banner that reads, _Stylin’ Sweets._

“Clever,” Louis says, nodding at the name. It’s literally the least clever name Harry could have possibly given his makeshift business.

“I know,” Harry agrees, waggling his eyebrows. He appears to think the name is _actually_ clever. Louis’ not going to burst his bubble. No one likes a sad Harry.

“I want a caramel turtle,” Daisy says, lifting one off the table to examine it.

“I’m watching my weight, but it all looks really good,” Phoebe sighs, rubbing her stomach and looking longingly at the treats.

“Go ahead and take one,” Harry tells Daisy. “You can have it for free if you promise to tell at least five people how it is, if you like it.”

Louis’ own stomach rumbles as he watches Daisy bite into the chocolate, caramel concoction and moan.

“Harry,” she exclaims, bits of candy sticking to her braces. “This is the _best._ ”

Louis doesn’t doubt that she’s right. Harry’s better than a decent cook. Or, at least, he had been in high school; Louis doubts he’s gotten worse.

Harry holds a chocolate chip cookie out to Louis. “You want one?”

The chocolate has begun to melt just a little in the sun. It looks _so_ good. As he reaches for it, Louis says, “You’re never going to make any money if people find out that you give this shit away for free.”

Harry puts his hands on his hips. “I’m an MBA, Louis. I know what I’m doing. First of all, the product is _not_ shit. And second of all,” he dimples, “now that you know how good it is, you’re going to sell it for me.”

Louis bites into the cookie.

Harry has, undoubtedly, become a _better_ baker than he had been in high school.

Seeing his reaction, Harry laughs. “Good, right?”

He’s a cocky motherfucker, that’s for sure. Part of Louis is tempted to spit the cookie out; it would serve him right. But, yeah, Harry’s not wrong, it is so damn good.

He gestures to the booth with his free hand. “What the fuck is all this anyway?”

Louis’ mom comes up behind him. “Language, Louis. Your sisters are right here.”

“We’ve heard the word ‘fuck’ before, Mom,” Phoebe informs her, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“Hi Jay! Do you want to try something?” Harry asks.

“No, thank you, honey. Anne had mentioned that you’d rented a stall, but she didn’t say why. I thought it might be something for your band,” Louis’ mom tells Harry, eying the cookies.

“I’ve dreamed about doing this for years. I always thought what your mom did selling those handknitted sweaters was amazing; I’ve thought I could be equally successful baking. Just haven’t been home for the Strawberry Fest in ages,” Harry explains.

Louis picks up a truffle and bites into it. It’s filled with raspberry cream which melts on his tongue.

“Only the first one’s free. You have to pay for that,” Harry tells him, making a gimme sign with his hand.

Louis rolls his eyes and digs a couple of quarters out of his pocket.

“Yeah, I need another dollar fifty,” Harry tells him, dropping the coins into his change box with a clang.

“You what?”

Louis can still taste the tang of the raspberry cream on his tongue, but two whole dollars seems like a lot of money.

Harry nods and points to the price marker. “That’s the deal.”

Louis hands over the rest of the money. “Did you do all this in your tiny-ass kitchen?”

Harry nods. “It really sucked. My parents have been eating out for like the last five days and they’re very unhappy about it. Maddie from the bookstore said she’d like to sell some and so did Niall. But I’m not sure my mom’s gonna let me keep it up. I don’t think they can afford it.”

“You should use the kitchen at the Farmhouse!” Louis’ mom exclaims, like she owns it, which, he supposes, she does. “Louis doesn’t really cook and it’s huge. We’ve got a huge fridge and two ovens.  Problem solved.”

“Wait a second,” Louis says, because he’s the one who’s living there.

Harry and Louis’ mom both look at him, eyes pleading. He can barely say ‘no’ to one of them, and the hopeful expectation on both their faces directed at him in the same moment is overwhelming.

He sighs. “Whatever. I guess I don’t really use it.”

Harry hands him another truffle. “Thank you. That’s perfect. Oh my gosh. That’s so perfect. I promise I will repay you in more than chocolate, but take this to start. Jay, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

She smiles. “On a diet, honey.”

“Oh, can’t you just have one?” Harry asks, offering her a chocolate chip cookie.

She shakes her head. “No, that’s the problem. I’m sure if I had one, I’d want another.”

“You would,” Daisy confirms. “Harry is amazing.”

Harry grins, wiping his palms on his apron, and Louis has to agree. Harry is pretty amazing.

~

“Oh my god, Louis. How do you do it?” Daisy’s eyes are huge. They’re at the carnival now, standing in front of the ring toss and she’s holding the third of her three rings. The first two are floating in the water, nowhere near the ducks they’re supposed to be encircling.

“Gently and accurately,” he informs her, knowing it’ll be no help at all. Her hand-eye coordination’s shit.

Phoebe could probably do it, but Phoebe is a few feet away texting. She’s been sulking over the fact that she’s here with her mom and her siblings and not her new boyfriend.

“You guys about finished?” Louis’ mom approaches them, loaded down with treats (a cotton candy stuffed under each arm and carrying an elephant ear covered in powdered sugar on a plate), flanked by the younger twins, each eating a hotdog. Their bright orange wristbands reflect the evening sun, now low in the sky.

Mouth covered in ketchup, Ernie says, “You won a giant stuffed dog!”

Louis lifts his prize in acknowledgement.

This is his one gift: he kicks ass at carnival games.

“He tried to teach me, but I suck,” Daisy moans, lobbing her last ring halfheartedly at the water. It hits a duck against the neck, but doesn’t encircle it.

The carnival worker laughs. “So close, sweetcheeks. Wanna try again?”

Daisy glares at him. So does Louis.

“Are you going to keep the dog in your bedroom?” Doris asks. She’s staring at the stuffed animal, her hotdog forgotten halfway to her mouth. A glob of ketchup falls onto the front of her shirt and Louis’ mother makes a little noise.

“I haven’t decided,” Louis tells her, even though he absolutely has. “Maybe.”

No way in _hell_ is he sleeping with a giant stuffed dog leering over him.

“Can I come over and play with it?” Doris asks, stepping closer. Another glob of ketchup falls, this time, thankfully, onto the ground.

“What if we were to let him live at your house instead?” Louis suggests.

“I don’t know if Dad would like that. He doesn’t really like animals.” Ernie looks very sad.

“Correction,” Phoebe says, popping into the conversation. “Dan _hates_ animals. The dog isn’t real, though, so it might be alright.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Louis asks. He hadn’t really expected that Dan would show up to the fair. Louis can’t remember him _ever_ being here, but he always likes to keep track of his excuses.

“He’s racing his sailboat. I’m not sure where, but he thinks he’s got a chance to place in this race. I’d like to have been able to meet him on the other side, but this is an important weekend for us to be here, you know?”

Louis doesn’t understand his mother’s need to justify her reasons for staying home _to him_. Dan must’ve given her all kinds of shit. _Fuck him_.

“Of course you’re not leaving town this weekend; it’s the _Strawberry Festival,_ ” Louis says. It seems like it would be an important weekend for _Dan_ to be here, too, but what does Louis know.

“I mean, Dan doesn’t have the same connection to the community, not growing up here. So he doesn’t really understand,” his mother explains, reading his thoughts.

Louis reaches out and tears a piece of fried dough off the elephant ear she’s holding. Stuffing it in his mouth, he says, “It’s important to you and to us, though. And it seems like you could use the help, lugging around these ones.”

Daisy follows Louis’ lead, taking her own bite of elephant ear.

Louis’ mom beams at him. “That’s why I’m so grateful to have you, Louis.”

Suddenly, Doris begins to cry. Louis looks down to see half her hotdog on the ground.

“It might be time to go home,” Louis’ mom says with a sigh, squatting down to pat Doris’ back. “It’s okay, honey.”

“Can’t _we_ stay?” Phoebe asks, gesturing between herself and Daisy.

Daisy chews her lip. Louis’d put money on the fact that Daisy’s as ready as Doris to go home.

“No, honey. How’d you get home later?”

“Louis can drive us,” she says, matter of factly. Like she’s already asked him, which she hasn’t. Smart girl.

“Louis is getting drunk at the Beer Tent with Harry,” Daisy informs the group at large.

It’s true, but he’s not sure why the “with Harry” bit is necessary. Harry will only be one of many people Louis will be drinking with.

“Oh, that’s right!” His mom stands, wincing. “You guys are performing! I wish I’d gotten a babysitter.”

“I can babysit,” Daisy volunteers.

“You’ll be asleep, sweetheart.” She reaches out and squeezes Louis’ shoulder. “We are gonna get outta here. But good luck, honey. You have _such_ a good voice and people have _so_ much fun watching you perform. I’m so proud to be your mom.”

She has tears in her eyes and Louis has to look away, even though he’s pleased.

“Thanks,” he says and means it.

~

Louis is smoking a cigarette by one of the trash can colonies between the parking lot and the carnival entrance a few minutes later when he hears his name.

“Lou!”

He looks up to see Harry approaching and bites back a wry smile.  He’s in a black cowboy hat with a frilly white button-up shirt (most of the buttons undone, of course) and jeans. And on his feet he’s got leather boots far too fancy for doing actual farm work. Frankly, he looks hilarious, like a movie star trying to blend into rural America and missing the mark entirely.

He grew up here. He fucking knows what people wear.

Louis blinks at him in bemusement. “What the fuck have you got on?”

Harry struts the rest of the way toward him like he’s on a catwalk and then strikes a pose. “I’m just wearing normal clothes. What do you mean?”

Louis flicks some ashes from his cigarette at him. “That is neither a good outfit for riding the Zipper, nor is it a good outfit for eating a half dozen hotdogs, nor is it your ‘Eddie’ outfit for later. So I will ask again, what the fuck have you got on?”

Harry sticks out his bottom lip. “You don’t like it?”

Louis closes the few steps between them and does up a couple of buttons. “There. Now you look less like a Cowboy-Pirate male stripper hybrid.”

“How much would you pay for me to dance?” Harry asks, as he promptly unbuttons the very same buttons that Louis has just done up.

Louis looks away and swallows, trying not to imagine Harry’s little ass in his lap, gyrating purposefully against his dick. _Fuck._

He drops his cigarette and rubs it out with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s go get fucked up.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, without questioning what Louis means.

Hell, Louis isn’t sure what he means. He only knows that he can’t stand around leering at Harry all night. That’d be a terrible mistake.

Luckily, as it turns out, Harry has some ideas. He drags Louis to the Beer Tent first, and orders them a couple of cans of Bud Light, which he pays for before Louis even knows what’s happened.

Louis takes a sip. It’s cold and bitter and alcoholic, exactly what he needs after the last few hours with his family.

Still, to Harry, he says, “This is shit beer.”

Harry takes a large gulp and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I could have bought you the canned Margarita, but I thought we were trying to fit in.”

He finishes the statement by inclining his head and raising an eyebrow. His hat slides down over his eyes.

He’s not fitting in tonight. Or any other night.

“Lost cause. I wish you had gotten me that green piss. At least it’s sweet.” Louis takes a swig of beer. Canned margaritas are literally the worst invention ever and worse still since Louis’d thrown up the ten cans he’d downed at Zayn’s going away party.

Harry finishes his beer and then crushes the can in his fist. Strong fingers. Very impressive. Louis would’ve thought he’d’ve lost his touch with all the cosmos and appletinis he undoubtedly drinks in Chicago.

Harry throws the can into the garbage and it clatters to the bottom, rustling the plastic bag as it goes down. “Oh shit. Still got it,” he says, fingers pointing up in the ‘I’m Number One’ dance.

This makes no sense because, “You literally never had it. Mr. Cowell tried to kick you off the varsity basketball team like five times.”

Every single attempt ended in Mr. Cowell apologizing to Harry for one thing or another and then letting him out his office with a high five and a, “See you at practice, tomorrow, Harry.”

Harry takes Louis’ can out of his hand and downs the last few sips. “No time. You promised to show me the wonders of the Zipper.”

Louis has no recollection of promising this, but at some point in their more than twenty year friendship, it’s likely he has. Harry doesn’t forget things like that.

When they get to the ride, Louis almost turns back around. The line is too long.

Which is saying something because, in the grand scheme of things, the Strawberry Festival isn’t that crowded and Louis’ waited in two hour lines at Six Flags before.

This line doesn’t take two hours, but they do have to wait through two whole cycles of spinning and rattling, which seem very, _very_ long with Harry storytelling beside him.

Apparently, Cara is a terrible baker- worse than Louis. And she’d tried to help him prepare for the Art Fair and burned a lot of shit. That’s it. That’s the whole story, but, of course, it takes Harry ten minutes to tell and he’s just about to launch into a more detailed description of what he’d baked as back-up, when they reach the front of the line.

As they’re locked into the cage, Harry wiggles and the metal clatters around them. He says, “I don’t think we should do this. No seatbelts. Not safe at all.”

Before Louis can respond, the ride jerks into motion and they watch as the next pair are seated in their cage and the next and the next until they’re on their backs on the top of the ride.

And then with another jerk, they’re off, round and round, and up and down, and round again. Louis closes his eyes and tries not to think of the beer rolling around in his stomach.

 _This is fun. This is so fun. How fun is this_ , he repeats quietly to himself.

And then, as a wave of nausea washes over him, _it can’t have felt like this in high school. Something’s gone terribly wrong._

For his part, Louis manages not to throw up, and indeed, to hop off with a smile and word of thanks to the operator. Tears stream down Harry’s face and he’s laughing. At least, Louis thinks he’s laughing.

As they wander away, Harry says, “I am starving. What do you think we can find for dinner?”

Louis surreptitiously rubs his stomach, willing it to settle. “Um.” He closes his eyes and tries to remember back to what his mom and sisters had eaten. “Hot dogs.”

“Not interested,” Harry says immediately.

“Elephant ears,” Louis suggests.

“Better. What else?”

Harry finally settles on a corn dog, and Louis thinks that might be because he enjoys its phallic shape; he eats it like he’s giving a blowjob. At least, as Louis watches Harry slip the end of it between his lips, that’s all Louis can think about- the wet head of a cock slipping through them the very same way.

“If anyone had any question about your sexuality, they won’t now,” Louis hisses. It’s probably rude, bringing it up like that. But after their conversation last week on the dock, Louis finds himself more curious than ever what the fuck Harry thinks he’s doing being home and acting, like, gay, or whatever.

Harry hollows out his cheeks as he pulls the corn dog out of his mouth, and then smacks his lips. “Am I embarrassing you?” he asks.

Louis shrugs. “No. You can do whatever you want, obviously.”

“If I were you,” -Harry’s voice takes on a teacherly tone- “I would be _proud_ to be riding rides and sharing dinner, practically on a date to the fair, with someone who’s openly so enthusiastic about sucking dick.”

Louis grabs the corn dog out of his hand and finishes it in two quick bites. “That’s how a normal person eats a corn dog.”

Harry pouts. And then, bitterly, he says, “I hope that’s not how you suck dick.”

“You wanna find out?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow and smiling. Except then he realizes what he’s said and adds, “I don’t suck dick.”

“Apparently not. Apparently, you just bite it off.” Harry giggles and lifts his coke cup to his mouth, sucking deeply out of the straw, so that his cheeks are hollowed out. Again.

So. The truth is Louis would definitely like Harry to use that kind of suction on his dick. And probably also vice versa. That’s it. That’s the truth and it’s out there now, floating around in Louis’ brain, bound to pop up from now until forever at the most inconvenient times.

“Which one of you two is better with a gun?” Louis whirls around, eager for a distraction. The guy working the Rifle game- Shoot the Star- is, indeed, addressing them.

Harry folds his arms across his chest and taps his drink against his elbow, sloshing the ice around. “Doesn’t matter. All carnival games are rigged.”

The guy shrugs and lights a cigarette. Smoking’s a _great_ way to attract kids and money, Louis thinks. Like, yeah, he’s a smoker, but he’s realistic about the fact that these goddamn tourists think that breathing in a little waft of carcinogenic air is gonna kill them.

(And yet… they sit by their fucking campfires for _hours_.)

“Just cause you can’t manage to win one doesn’t mean nobody can,” the guy says, before lifting his cigarette to his lips.

“They are rigged,” Louis says, nodding to Harry, who only frowns deeper. Then, he adds, “But I did win one of those big stuffed dogs earlier at the ring toss.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You did not. You probably paid the guy for one while your mom and sisters weren’t looking.”

Louis grins. “I’m not _you_. I don’t have that kind of cash laying around.”

The guy blows out a cloud of smoke. Louis could use a cigarette, too, now that he’s thinking about it.

“So, you two up for it?” He nods to the game.

Louis nods at Harry. “Harold, you up for it?”

Harry uncrosses his arms and then tosses his empty cup into a trash can a few feet away. He makes the shot and the cup rattles to the bottom.

He grins and nods, “Okay. Maybe my hand eye coordination isn’t so bad, after all.”

It is. It always has been. It always will be.

Harry’s luck, however, is equally consistent. So, he’s perpetually hopeful.

As they line up behind the sights, Harry mutters, “Still think this is fucking _rigged_.”

Louis silently agrees. However, just because the system is rigged against you, doesn’t mean you’ll necessarily lose. Louis just has to figure out how to work around it or, alternatively, play really, really well by its rules.

Harry shoots first and misses, hissing out a string of cuss words so explicit that Louis’ pulse flutters. He imagines Harry’s pretty good at dirty talk. Like, in bed.

And then he stops imagining that. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him tonight.

Not Harry, yet.

 _Fucking hell_.

He focuses on the paper star, lines up his shot, and pulls the trigger, hitting the target on the first try. He steps away, pumping his fist into the air. “Fuck yeah!”

“What the hell,” the dude running the game stomps out his cigarette. “That never happens. No one gets it on their first shot. Betcha can’t do it again.” He holds out his palm and rubs his fingers together.

The five dollar bill Harry’d given him before had paid for two shots and they’d split them. To win a stuffed animal, they’d have needed to make them both.

Louis wants to prove this asshole wrong and win a giant to stuffed animal to show Harry that he can, but unfortunately he’d spent almost all his cash on his sisters. He’s not eager to drop what’s left of it on some shitty carnival game.

Harry hands the man another five dollar bill and steps away from his own rifle. “Win me a prize, sweetcheeks,” he says.

Louis flushes and glances at the man running the booth to see if he registered the casual endearment. He’s got his eyebrows raised expectantly at Louis and he gestures to the rifle. “Well?”

Louis wins.

The carnie hands him a stuffed leopard the size of large watermelon.

Louis sighs. “This is not what I thought I was winning.” He nods to the giant bear Harry’d been eying.

“You gotta play three rounds to win that one,” the man says.

“I could order it online cheaper than that,” Louis hisses.

“You got to think about shipping, Louis,” Harry tells him, fingers on his chin as he walks forward to give the bear a closer look. “Shipping costs an arm and leg these days.”

Louis’ eyes narrow and he digs out the remainder of the cash in his wallet and hands it to the man. “Fine,” he says. “Give me another two rounds.”

“Three rounds,” the man says, indicating the leopard.

“Give it back, Harry. I’m gonna win you that bear instead.”

Harry gives the leopard a kiss and a pat before handing it over. Louis suddenly remembers Harry’s room as a child. He’d had two twin beds and when Louis’d come over on the nights his mom and Mark worked late, he’d have to push off all the stuffed animals- a soft mountain of them- in order to sleep in the spare.

Harry always slept with a couple, and his favorites rotated regularly. Louis distinctly remembers two- a hippo with a mouth the size of his head that Louis’d used to chase Harry around the house making chomping noises and a cloth doll in a silky pink dress, handmade by Harry’s grandma.

One night, he’d found Harry clutching the doll to his chest, crying. Between hiccups he explained that the doll had a hole in the toe, where stuffing had begun to escape. “No problemo,” Louis’d said. He’d found some duct tape to help Harry repair it.

Louis wonders if he’d taken any of his stuffed animals to Chicago and if he still keeps all his old ones piled high on that twin bed.

Louis wonders if he won the big bear now, whether Harry’d put it on that other bed or maybe try to fit it in his own, wrapping his arms and legs around it, burying his face in its fur, as he sleeps.

“This is impossible, Lou,” Harry says. “Don’t waste your money.”   

But it isn’t impossible. Louis wins again and again. He doesn’t miss a shot, despite Harry’s pessimistic commentary. The carnival worker scowls at him as he retrieves the stuffed bear.

Harry doesn’t even ask if maybe Louis’d intended it for one of siblings- he just takes it right out of the man’s hands and carries it away with him, dropping it off in his jeep before they walk back to the Beer Tent.

Louis finds he’s glad he’d spent the money. He hopes Harry thinks of him every time he cuddles the damn bear and he hopes he cuddles the damn bear all the damn time.

Louis likes proving people wrong and he likes the idea of Harry thinking of him.

In bed.

~

Louis ignores Niall at first. He can feel him standing over his shoulder expectantly, waiting for a pause in the conversation.

But, of course, there is no pause in the conversation because Cara is very, _very_ wrong about this latest season of Big Brother- Joe’s not the wild one; Louis is sure Leah’s the one who’s actually going to end up fucking everything and everyone up.

“Listen, it’s always the quiet ones. It’s _always_ the quiet ones,” Louis insists.

“What are you trying to say about my girl?” Cara throws her arm around Kendall, who has indeed been very quiet.

“I don’t trust her,” he says, shooting Kendall a wink.

“Where’s Harry?” Niall finally interrupts.

That’s an excellent question.

Louis isn’t sure. He’d been here, at Louis’ elbow, inserting off-topic comments into the conversation, just moments ago. He isn’t now, though.

“Liam’s setting up the mics and cueing up the drum track. We’re on in ten minutes.” Louis hears the undercurrent of anger in Niall’s tone. He’s nervous.

To be fair, Louis is nervous, too. This whole thing, even after several _very_ productive rehearsals, is still the shittiest idea ever. They’re not high schoolers anymore. They can’t get away with making fools of themselves in front of a tent filled with Louis’ neighbors and potential employers.

Like, fuck, Louis thinks Jim and Robin, his actual already employers, are running around here somewhere.

“We’re really gonna do this, then?”

“Harry says you guys are gonna kick ass, that we’ll all be begging for you to produce an album,” Cara says, laughing. She clearly does not believe Harry, and, while Louis thinks this is probably a fair assessment, he doesn’t like her tone.

“Harry’s _good_. You’ll be begging for _his_ album, at least,” Louis replies. Then, to Niall, he says, “I need about three more beers and also some of that good stuff.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Niall rolls his eyes. “We don’t have time.”

“Eeeeey,” Harry appears on Louis’ other side. He’s carrying two pitchers of beer and he’s got a small stack of plastic cups between his teeth.

Louis takes one of the pitchers out of his arms and begins to gulp it down. Bud Light, of fucking course. Still, it’s cold and wet and _alcohol_ , which is what counts at the end of the night.

“Jesus, Louis,” Niall mutters. He’s Irish and his family owns a bar. Louis doesn’t see where he can get off judging people for drinking.

“Aren’t we on now?” Harry asks, as if _he’s_ been waiting on them.

Niall nods.

Louis lowers the pitcher and wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

The three of them, and their beer, make it to the stage where Liam is arguing with the high school boy in the sound booth.

“I like the red lights,” he’s saying. “They’re badass. I don’t care if our faces don’t show up. I want to look badass.”

He’s drunk, Louis realizes gleefully. He hasn’t seen drunk Liam since his wedding. He’s also wearing his “James” costume. Louis stomach drops out. He’s such a fuck up. He’d totally forgotten his own damn costume at Niall’s after the last rehearsal.

Harry grips his elbow and squeezes hard. “I left our costumes in a bag by the edge of the stage. Although, my jacket’s about to bust a seam and I have my doubts about your pants.”

Louis grins at him. Harry’s got his back tonight, first with the beer, now with the costumes.

However, what the fuck is he trying to say about Louis’ ass. Louis turns around and sticks his butt toward Harry, gripping the cheeks. “I think I’ve slimmed down quite a bit since high school. What do you think?”

Harry laughs shakily and when Louis turns back around he’s pouring himself a cup of beer and it foams over the top of the rim. Louis watches, transfixed, as Harry, gazing right back at him, licks the liquid off the side of his hand.

Louis sees how things are.

He wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist and forces him to bring the cup to Louis’ own lips. He gulps down the entirety of it without taking a breath.

He’s gasping as he pulls away.

“Sexy,” Harry says, tugging his wrist free, and Louis doesn’t know whether he means it or not.

He hopes so.

 _Fuck_.

This is why Harry shouldn’t have come home for the summer. With him around, Louis is so, _so_ tempted to, like, act in ways he shouldn’t and Harry fucking _encourages_ it.  

As they’re preparing to go on stage, Louis has to bend over to retrieve his suspenders and the room spins when he lifts his head, a colorful blur of lights and laughter. As everything steadies back into place, Louis’ eyes land on Harry shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. It’s cold out, too cold to be shirtless and his nipples have turned to hard, pinkish-brown nubs.  

Louis reaches out to touch one, rubbing his thumb over it and eliciting a soft, _fuck,_ from Harry.

The word jerks Louis out of his trance and he saves the moment by twisting the tender flesh as hard as he can.

Harry yelps and hops backward. “What the fuck, Lou?”

He sounds _actually_ angry. Which, it’s really not Louis’ fault. “You shouldn’t have left those out, if you didn’t want that to happen. You know better.”

Harry flicks him off and they finish dressing in silence. Harry doesn’t let it go, though. As they walk up the couple of steps to the stage, he leans into Louis and mutters into his ear, “You’re confusing the _hell_ out of me, Lou.”

He doesn’t give Louis a chance to respond either, because he walks right up to a mic and welcomes everyone to their show.

Louis realizes, as they launch into their first song, that Harry’s words can only mean one thing: he’s still interested in Louis. Not just attracted to him, but legitimately _interested_ in, like, fucking around with him.

What the _fuck_.

He’s been gone for so long- Louis knows he’d met lots of beautiful, interesting, _rich_ men in Chicago. Like, _hell_ , he has another _boyfriend,_ or, at least, Louis was pretty sure that Nick was his boyfriend.

Louis’ mulling over the strangeness of Harry’s words-of Harry’s _interest_ \- as they sing Harry’s old favorite, Little Things. It’d been one of Louis’ favorites, too. He’d fed off the drama of it. He’d loved _pretending_ to pine over Harry, loved the way it’d made the crowds roar with laughter.

The whole idea behind the (sappy as fuck) lyrics had been that it was a song Eddie and Will had written for each other, as _bros, obviously_.

Tonight, the lighting in the tent seems to soften as Niall strums the chords for the chorus. The crowd appears fuzzy, but Harry, now sitting, his legs hanging over the edge of the stage, is crystal clear and Louis can’t take his eyes off of him.

He wonders if this is always the way it had been, whether Will’s hunger for ‘Eddie’ had ever been fake. It doesn’t matter, really, because it’s real now.

So real that he has to look away and focus on something else.

Liam.

That asshole could be taken down a peg. Louis sidles up to him and throws an arm around his shoulder. Beneath his fingertips, Liam’s muscles tense in anticipation.

Smart boy.

Louis plucks his hat from his head and walks carefully to the other side of the stage. In the front row, Louis can his see his sister, shaking her head and laughing her ass off.

Lottie lives a couple of hours away and he hadn’t known she’d be in for the weekend or he’d have made _her_ go to the Art Fair with mom. He supposes she’s never missed a Strawberry Festival before, and this is the first year she’s old enough to get into the Beer Tent.

And then he thinks, of course he didn’t expect her to be here. That’s what people do: if they can get out of Lake County, they don’t come back.

Louis can’t say he blames a one of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry stand up and sashay across the stage. He leans down to high five someone sway-dancing right up front.

Except, apparently, some people _do_ come back.

~

Niall has a flask tucked into the outside of his guitar bag and he pulls it out at the end of One Direction’s set and passes it around. Louis takes two deep swigs before handing it off, wincing as he swallows. Niall has cheap taste, especially for a man who co-owns a bar.  

Still, it’s whiskey and it’s potent and Louis’ already nearing smashed, so he can’t really complain.

It’s a good trick on Niall’s part, cause his barband is headlining the event and as soon as they start- kicking off their set with a cover of Katy Perry’s latest tune- even though most of the crowd has quieted down, the rest of One Direction heads straight to the front to dance their asses off.

Louis tries to focus on shouting the lyrics he knows (and some he doesn’t), on the smiles of the people around him, on the thrum of the music buzzing through him, and on the dizzying rush he feels every time he moves his head- he tries to focus on anything other than the hot press of Harry’s fingertips which do not leave Louis’ body.

Harry’s trying to be subtle about it, or, at least, Louis thinks he is. He doesn’t keep his hands in one place very long. They float from Louis’ hips to press into the small of his back, and then flutter atop his shoulders. For a while their only point of contact is Harry’s knuckle digging gently into the meat of Louis’ thigh.

 _Fuck._ Harry’s always close, but then so is Liam and so Louis’ tries to focus more of his energy- his conversation, his gaze, his badass dance moves- on him.

The band launches into a ballad and the crowd quiets. Louis fumbles in his pockets, looking for his lighter, wanting to make this shit concert seem like the real goddamn thing, but Harry’s fingers wrap round his wrist and he leans in to whisper in Louis’ ear.

“Remember when you taught me to slow dance?” Louis can hear Harry’s smile.

They’d been eleven and thirteen and it’d started out alright, Louis instructing Harry where to put his hands and helping him sway with the beat. But it had ended in a bitter argument. Harry’d been convinced that Louis wasn’t getting into the part well enough, that he wasn’t acting enough like the girls in Harry’s class, whom Harry was sure wanted to _kiss_ him.

Louis remembers laughing at Harry’s apparent anxiety. He’d thought it _ridiculous_ that the kid had been legitimately frightened by the idea of girls trying to french him on the dance floor.

Harry’s mouth stays close, now, on this dance floor, and he says, “I wanted to ask you to teach me to kiss, too.”

Louis has to piss, and says as much, before stumbling away out of the tent and relieving himself against a nearby tree.

The noise of the show is muted out here, but Niall’s voice sounds fantastic, hollow, but in a strangely compelling way. He shouldn’t be stuck running a bar- he should be touring the world, Louis thinks, angrily.

Neither should Louis be running a farm. Alone.

Neither should Louis’ mother have to marry asshole after asshole.

 _Fuck_.

When Louis returns to the front of the tent, Liam and Harry are on stage dancing filthily against each other, Harry’s ass against Liam’s thigh, while Niall tries to sing through tears of laughter.  

Louis’ anger boils over.

It’s not fucking fair that Harry can do this and have everyone _laugh appreciatively,_ but he can’t bring his boyfriend to his best friend’s wedding. Like, _fuck_.

Nothing’s fair. Not for any of them.

Louis picks up a half full cup of beer resting on the stage and downs it. He thinks it’s probably Niall’s, but he doesn’t really care. He crushes the plastic in his fist once he’s finished and tosses it at the trash can a few feet away. He misses, of course, as he can barely see straight, and hits a girl in the back of the head.

She turns to glare at him.

Well, maybe she shouldn’t be dancing so close to the fucking trash can. Louis flicks her off.

“Did you like that show Liam and I were putting on?” Harry asks, suddenly by his side.

Worry lines form between Harry’s brows as he waits for an answer and Louis’ rage dissipates. “Of course, Harry.”

Harry beams.

“Last one’s for my boys,” Niall is saying.

Louis whirls around to take in the crowd. The place is still packed. This couldn’t possibly be the last song. The night is still young, Louis is sure of it.

Harry’s dancing close again, closer than he has all night maybe. Louis can smell the sweet tang of his sweat mixed with his piney deodorant and he can feel his breath hot against his neck. Everyone is shouting.

Niall’s band is playing _Shout_ , actually, Louis realizes, and everyone is singing along.

And if the night has to end, this is the perfect way to end it, spirits high, everyone dancing, and Harry, right where he belongs, beside Louis.

Then, suddenly, the lights come on, the tent begins to empty, and the band starts to pack up their instruments and wrap up their mic and amp chords. Louis hops up on stage to help, stumbling a little as he rights himself.

“Who’s driving you home?” Niall asks.

“I’m fine,” Louis tells him, fiddling with a mic stand. Niall takes it out of his hands.

“Sure, but you’re also drunk,” Niall laughs as he says it, so it doesn’t sound like a judgement.

“I _am_ drunk,” Louis agrees happily. He _is_ , and pleasantly so. In fact, right now he’s the perfect level of drunk: the world is glowing and Louis’ limbs are buzzing and he feels inexplicably content. Out of the corner of his eyes, Louis sees Harry following Niall’s drummer back and forth across the stage. His hands gesture dramatically as he talks, something Louis knows he only does when he’s just the right amount of drunk, too.

“Keys?” Niall demands, putting a palm out.

Louis hands them over without thinking and then immediately regrets it and tries to grab them back. When Niall pockets them, Louis whines, “Neil, buddy, I didn’t mean for you to take them. I thought you just wanted to see them.”

“Do you need a ride? Or you wanna crash on my couch?” Niall asks.

“You’re an asshole,” Louis tells him, grinning.

“Heeeeyyy,” Harry wanders over and puts his chin on Louis’ shoulder. Louis reaches up to pat Harry’s head and his fingers get lost in his curls, which have become damp with sweat and extra springy.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Harry murmurs. Louis tries to pay attention to his words instead of the movement of his jaw, but it’s a struggle. “Anyone wanna go for a walk?”

Niall shakes his head. “We gotta clear this place out, load up the equipment, and shit. We promised we’d do it tonight, so they can start setting up for the 4H Fair bright and early tomorrow.”

Louis pulls Harry’s hair lightly and then steps back from him. “I’ll keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t get eaten by Sasquatch.”

Niall cracks up. “Watch out, Harry. His ass would run away so fast. You should’ve seen him when-”

“That’s enough, Niall,” Louis says, reaching out to slap a hand across his mouth.

Niall bites his finger.

“Fuck,” Louis pulls it away and clutches it to his chest, as he follows Harry out of the tent. “Sianara, motherfuckers!”

They make it about fifty yards in the direction of the lake, when Harry turns around. Louis follows him, because of course he does, but he comments, “Indecisive much? Where the fuck are we going?”

Harry says, “Put your arm around me. It’s colder than I expected.”

Again, Louis does as he asks, but he says, “You’re too drunk to be cold.”

Harry presses his nose against Louis’ ear. “You’re too drunk to be cold.”

Which, Louis would’ve agreed a couple of minutes ago, but now that that they’re talking about it, Louis realizes that it _is_ fucking freezing and neither of them are wearing coats or even sweatshirts.

“I’m not drunk, at all,” Harry continues. He punctuates this claim with a dramatic handwave so Louis knows that he’s lying.

“You were grinding on Liam. On the stage. In front of the whole damn town.” As far as Louis could tell, no one thought a thing about it. Liam’s just gotten married, for fuck’s sake, so it just looked like two straight bros fucking around. But still.

“I don’t have to be drunk to cut a rug.” Harry pouts.

“Cut a rug? Is that some kind of Chicago slang?” Louis asks because who the fuck even talks like that.

“No,” Harry says, sounding increasingly distressed.

“Is it something you learned in grad school?” Louis asks. It’s not. Like, who would talk about grinding on people in school. People, especially people in prestigious master’s programs in big cities that cost thousands of dollars and require internships, don’t do shit like that, Louis’ sure.

“Actually,” Harry drawls, brightening. “It’s a gay word. From the _gay_ community.”

Louis flushes and straightens his shoulders. “Cut a rug, eh? Doesn’t sound very gay.”

“You’re not thinking creatively enough,” Harry replies.

Louis realizes he’s guided them subconsciously to his truck. Glad to change the subject, he says, “I have a sweatshirt and a blanket in the cab, I think.”

But then as he reaches for the handle, he snaps his fingers. “Fucking Niall. Took my keys.”

Harry reaches around him and pulls open the door. “Good thing you never remember to leave it locked.”

Louis glares at him and then reaches into the back to dig out the goods. He finds two sweatshirts and a large powder blue fleece blanket he’d been meaning to bring to Fizzy from her old bedroom in the Farmhouse months ago.

Harry’s hoisting himself up over the side of the truck and hopping into the bed with a thump. “Come on,” he gestures to Louis, before propping himself up against the cab.

Louis pulls on one of the sweatshirts, from when they played basketball in high school, the elbows almost worn through, and then hops up to lounge beside Harry.

“Look at the stars,” Louis says, unnecessarily.

“I wish I knew or had the right equipment or whatever to photograph them. I really miss them so much in Chicago,” Harry murmurs.

Louis turns to look at Harry instead, to watch as he slides down the cab so that he’s on his back, hands tucked behind his head smiling at up the universe.

Louis arranges the blanket over them and then hands Harry the other sweatshirt, which he squishes up and arranges like a pillow. With a sigh, Louis lies down beside him.

Harry feels warm and solid- _alive_ \- next to him and Louis thinks it’s been some time since he’s fallen asleep pressed up against another human being. It’s cozy, the light buzz of alcohol that has yet to wear off, the twinkling lights above them, the heat of Harry’s body; everything is perfect except for the hard ridges of his truck bed digging into his back and the ache of his neck, already missing its pillow.

He contemplates pulling off his sweatshirt and copying Harry, but he’s still a little cold.

In movies and country songs, sleeping in the back of a pick-up with your love always looks and sounds so romantic.

“Fuck, this is too uncomfortable to be a good date idea,” he mutters.

Harry reaches over and puts a finger against his lips. “Lou, you’re too drunk to be uncomfortable.”

Louis licks his finger. And then he bites it. “I want a pillow and more blankets and a mattress.”

Harry groans and then sits up, removing the sweatshirt from beneath his head. “Use this,” he says.

Louis has just finished arranging it when he feels Harry scoot down and settle against him, his head now using Louis’ shoulder as a pillow.

He can’t do that.

Louis moves to push his head away, but instead his fingers tangle in Harry’s hair and Harry coos softly.

Harry whispers, “See, this is a great date idea.” His lips move lightly against Louis’ skin.

“If only,” Louis sighs. “I had a date.”

Harry hums.

Louis tips his face down, wanting to try and piece out Harry’s expression in the darkness, but he times the movement wrong because Harry’s moving too.

And their lips brush.

They both freeze and then, gradually, melt into the kiss. Harry’s lips are soft against Louis’, and not quite still as Louis presses against them, eager, finally, to feel them- feel _Harry._

He rolls over to wrap himself around Harry, sliding his hands up and under Harry’s shirt. This is what he wanted, he realizes, opening up his mouth for Harry’s tongue, this is what he’d been waiting for all night long.

The skin on Harry’s back is hot against Louis’ fingertips and the press of his thigh, solid against Louis’ cock. Louis’ breath hitches as he arches against it and his eyes _sting_ because, truthfully, he’s waited a lot longer than one night for this.

Harry groans, and the sound of it is deep, rich, and it jars Louis’ conscience. This is _Harry,_ his male best friend and that is Harry’s dick he feels pressing into his thigh and that is Harry’s adam’s apple bobbing at his throat. In the back of his mind, Louis knows that he’s going to flip out about this tomorrow, probably as soon as the sun wakes him.

But, right now, the forbiddenness of it is okay, fun, even.

One of Harry’s hands grips Louis’ ass tightly, so tightly Louis can feel his nails cut through the fabric and Harry’s groaning turns into a whine.

“Fuck,” Harry murmurs. And then, “I wish I wasn’t so drunk.”

Louis tucks himself more tightly to Harry’s body. He gets it, what Harry’s saying. The moment is a blur of feelings and sensation, too hazy to be perfect.

His limbs are steadily becoming too heavy to move and his mind too thick with sleep to keep up with what’s happening. They’re going to spend the night like this, Louis thinks as he drops off, dimly aroused and deeply intertwined

~

Louis’ shivering and his bladder aches with the need to piss. But fuck if he’s getting out of bed when it’s this cold. He pulls the blankets more tightly around him, but they’re not heavy enough. He swears that he’d put another one-

He blinks his eyes open and then immediately closes them against bright sunshine.

His head hurts from the fucking alcohol and his back hurts from the fucking truck bed and he does _really really_ have to piss.

He sits up slowly.

Harry’s gone, he realizes.

And then, Harry was _here_. He’d spent the night with Harry. The whole night. They’d gone to the fair together and they’d gotten drunk at the beer tent- Harry’d paid for all his drinks, _again_ \- and they’d climbed into his truck bed and looked at the stars.

Then, they’d _kissed_.

No, fuck that. They’d _made out_. If Louis hadn’t had whiskey dick, he’d probably have gotten off.

Louis’ known he’s wanted to kiss Harry for years. He’d come to terms with it shortly (almost immediately) after Harry’d come out to him with those damn chocolate chip cookies.

But he’d also come to terms with the fact that he’d never be able to act on it. He liked girls alright, never had a problem getting it up for Eleanor. Things- his life, his mom’s life, his sisters’ lives- they’d be easier if he kept his desire for Harry (and all other men) at bay and focused on women and working, instead.

So much for that. _Fuck._

Louis wonders if anyone’d seen them. The street where Louis’ truck is parked is deserted now, at ass o’clock in the morning or whatever time the sun’s rising these days.

He pulls himself over the edge of the truck and then, after looking over both his shoulders, relieves himself in a nearby bush. He tries to aim away from the sidewalk, but the fucking sun _is_ blinding and he has to squint to see anything at all. He thinks it’s a cruel trick that the leaves on the bushes are so full and green and the sun is so loud so early and yet his ass is still _freezing_ because the temperature of the air is practically arctic.

He swears someday he’s gonna move south, where it’s sunny in January and where he can sleep comfortably under the stars the whole night through more than a week a year.

Tucking himself away, he tries to remember if he’s got any motrin in his dash. He thinks some might’ve fallen out of the pocket of his jeans onto the floor, but he’s sidetracked before he can check.

Because on top of an old coffee stain on the soft grey of his driver’s seat sit his keys, three little orange pills, a bottle of water, and a note scribbled on the back of a receipt.

_Didn’t know if you’d be in the mood to take your caffeine hot or cold so I got you both. -Harry_

Louis’ eyes flick to the middle console to find a Mountain Dew: Code Red and large styrofoam cup of coffee.

He chews his lip and reaches for the coffee, hoping it’s still warm. It _is_ and he downs the pills, trusting they’re meant to soften his headache; Harry wouldn’t do him wrong. Hopping up into the cab, he _wonders_.

Harry hadn’t needed to grab his keys from Niall or the caffeine from the gas station or the pain killers, but he also hadn’t needed to scoot out before Louis woke up. He could’ve woken Louis up to say goodbye. Or good morning. Or something.

Maybe he had tried and Louis hadn’t woken. Or! Or maybe he’d texted. Louis digs his phone out of his pocket. It’s dead. _Fuck._

The clock on Louis’ dash reads 7:30am.

God, it’s too fucking early to be thinking about fucking Harry.

After pulling into the driveway at the farmhouse, he crawls up the steps and drops into bed. As he drifts off he thinks he that he really should have plugged in his phone.  

~

When he finally wakes again, it’s late afternoon. Heart fluttering in his chest, Louis attaches his phone to the charger and waits for it to power up.

His mom has texted him twenty times. She wants to tell him she’d heard he’d done a good job last night. Then, to find out if he’s still alive. Then, to ask him if he’s coming over for dinner. Then, to tell him to pick up milk and ketchup on his way.

Harry hasn’t texted, at all. And Louis doesn’t text him either.

And he doesn’t text him the next day. Or the following day. Or the one after that.

It’s not strange, for them to go days without a word.

But it is _strange_ for them to like, kiss, or whatever. So.

So Louis’ a bundle of nerves when Niall texts the group chat Thursday morning _bball tnight at the farmhouse_

Louis immediately texts back, _you hosting a party at my house without asking wtf_  

To which Niall replies, _it’s jay’s house and she’s cool with it_

God, she probably is, is the thing. She’d been the one to encourage him and Mark to set up the court in the old barn.

She’d wanted the boys out of the kitchen and den, but close enough to keep an eye on, since they almost always ended up at the Farmhouse after school. Louis’d liked it that way and still does; he _likes_ being the host and having everyone come to him.

 _get your asses over here by seven,_ he texts, resolutely not worrying about the whole Harry-kiss situation.

~

No one shows up till eight, which is good because Louis’ just come in from bailing hay with his sisters and is contemplating showering the itch off his skin, when Niall bursts into his bedroom.

“The fuck is everyone? I thought I’d be late!”

Niall is never late. He’s more punctual than anyone Louis’ ever met. Louis’ missed hanging out with him countless times because Niall, the impatient bastard, arriving early, had gotten tired of waiting for Louis’ lazy ass and headed home.

“You’re early, as fucking usual, _bro_ ,” Louis tells him. Niall’s also come prepared in basketball shorts and a white tank top that showcases his beet red shoulders. His face is equally pink.

“Had the day off?” Louis asks.

“No. Greg and I had an afternoon-long brainstorming meeting.” Niall sounds offended that Louis would even suggest such a thing.

Louis knows better. “On the beach?”

“What’s wrong with doing a little business in the sun and sand over a couple of beers? I don’t see how it’s any different than, like, doing business over a round of golf.”

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls on his own tank top and basketball shorts before leading Niall downstairs and out to the barn.

Harry’s dribbling the basketball at the free throw line when they arrive. Louis stops at the door to watch him. His hair is pulled back into a loose bun, a thin white headband keeping the flyaways out of his face, and he’s wearing a plain black jersey, but Louis’ tempted to ask where the rest of his shorts went. The ones he’s got on don’t even reach mid-thigh _._ Surely, that’s not necessary.

Harry aims and shoots and-

“AIRBALL!” Louis shouts.

Harry jumps and turns toward them, the basketball thawking rhythmically against the pavement behind him, forgotten.

“Hey,” he says, smiling slowly, dimples popping as he begins to saunter toward them. “Heeeyy.”

“Oh no, Styles,” Niall tells him. “Don’t you flirt with us. It won’t work. We’re not picking you. You’re on Liam’s team. The end.”

Harry pouts and squares his shoulders. “I was on Varsity. I was even up for Most Valuable Player.”

“Your charm was out of control then, too,” Louis reminds him.

The truth was the athletic and academic abilities of the class of ‘09 and ‘10 had been minimal. They’d been lucky to pull together eleven healthy sized boys with passing grades, at all; Coach Cowell really couldn’t be too bothered about skill. There’s no way in _hell_ Harry would’ve made the team any other year.  

Harry waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Is it working on you?”

It’s weird, having Harry bite his lip and make moon eyes at him. Louis’d been intent on avoiding Harry after the kiss. He’d assured himself that it was because he didn’t want things to be weird and different between them, but now he’s caught off guard by things _not_ being weird and different.

“Um…” Louis says. He’s not sure what Harry’s asking, now.

He’s saved by the flash of headlights and the crunch of gravel as Liam pulls into the driveway.

~

Liam’s strong, not _un_ skilled, and he tries so damn hard. But as Louis reminds him over and over, big muscles don’t mean shit, not when your opponent has talent and agility, which he and Niall do. Most of the time.

Harry’s terrible at making baskets and he travels all the fucking time, but he throws up a mean block on occasion, which is worth something.

Louis and Niall win the first game.

And the second. And the third, though that one’s closer. Louis, who’s been fucking baling hay all day, has an aching back and itching forearms and, after putting in the winning shot, drops to the floor of the barn, laying spread eagle on his back.

Liam pulls his shirt over his head and uses it to wipe the sweat off his face. Harry walks over and kicks Louis’ hip. He’d ditched his shirt ages ago.

“We almost had you,” Harry insists. “Next round, we’ll get it.”

“Sorry boys, I gotta go. Long day tomorrow. I’m on an early shift and Soph’s working late, so I gotta watch Dale when he gets home from school.” Liam sounds tired, more tired than he has all night.

Louis wonders if maybe the family stuff is getting to him already. He says, “You just don’t want your ass handed to you. Again.”

Liam laughs. “I was going easy on you. _And_ I took Harry on my team. Next time, it’s you and Harry against me and Niall. We’ll see who wins then.”

“Great,” Harry says, laying down beside Louis. “Maybe you’ve forgotten since high school, but Lou and I are the dream team.”

“That was in Mario Kart,” Niall says. He’s shooting baskets from the free throw line. Almost all of them are sailing right in.

“In everything,” Harry replies. “Louis and I could kick your asses at anything.” He speaking softly and slowly and Louis can’t tell if he’s joking.

“I’m not betting on it,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Next time, those are the teams,” Liam says, his voice moving farther and farther away.

“I’m gonna head out now, too.” Niall’s voice is suddenly right above them.

Louis blinks his eyes open. “Oh?”

“But I’m with Liam. Let’s do me and him against you two fuckers next time,” Niall folds his arms over his chest.

“I don’t get why you’d want to switch teams. Louis’ way better than Liam,” Harry sounds indignant, as he puts Louis’ thoughts into words.

Niall cackles and kicks Louis’ side before disappearing, leaving Louis and Harry, laying side by side, alone in the night.

Quiet stretches between them. Or, they’re quiet. The night is not.

The bugs are loud as hell, and there’s an owl roosted in one of the other barns hooting aggressively. Above it all, the wind creeks through the old wooden structure in the occasional sudden gust.

Finally, Harry says, “I’m sorry.”

Louis rolls over onto his side so he’s looking down into Harry’s face. It’s a position he’s found himself in often lately. Too often, maybe. “For what?”

As soon as the words are out, he wishes he could take them back. Harry’s looking pointedly at Louis’ lips and Louis knows exactly why he’s apologizing.

But he doesn’t want Harry to apologize and he doesn’t want Harry to know that he doesn’t want him to apologize.

He wants to keep the other night clean. Perfect. _His_.

“For last Saturday night,” Harry says, ruining everything.

“Like,” Harry draws out the word. “Like, I know you’re not interested in doing, um, whatever it is we were doing.”

“I liked it,” Louis says. “You’re... “ He doesn’t know how to describe what Harry is without sounding sappy.

So he goes with sappy, “You’re really incredible. Handsome. Charming.” He takes a breath and adds, “Sexy.”

“Lou, don’t,” Harry says, closing his eyes. Louis lays back down. He can’t look at Harry and talk about these things or he’ll end up kissing him again.

“But you’re right. I don’t think- me being with a guy, even you, it wouldn’t work, not up here. I’d break my mom’s heart, for one.” Louis rubs the tips of his fingers against the rough cement, relishing the burn of it. “And I don’t mind doing stuff with girls."

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice catching.

The back of Louis’ throat closes up and the corners of his eyes are stinging. He feels like they’re 18 and 20 again and he’s turning Harry down for the first time.

 _Fuck_. Why are they like this? It’s not _fair_. Why can’t they be like normal best friends?

“How do you do it?” He asks, voice rasping.

“What?” Harry replies immediately. “How do I do what?” 

“Be so, I don’t know, okay with being out there?” Louis asks and when Harry doesn’t answer, he clarifies. “I mean about who you are and who you like?”

Now, Harry rolls toward him, his hair falling into Louis’ face and brushing his nose. “I’m not, Lou. Most people don’t know. Not up here.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, disbelieving. He thinks about the night Harry’d come for the bachelor party and the older men at the bar warning Louis to watch out for Harry. Literally, everyone knows.

Louis links their fingers and squeezes. “People know,” Louis insists.

“Yeah, but they don’t _know_ know _._ They can pretend that I’m straight. Which is alright, sometimes. But sometimes- I don’t know- sometimes it’s not.” Harry squeezes his fingers back.

“It’s different in Chicago? Everyone there _knows_ knows?” Louis asks. He doesn’t know how Harry’d be more obvious. He imagines Harry, like, wearing a sign around his neck.

“Well,” Harry draws out the word, clearly thinking. “I think, like, I dress a little differently. And I’ve had boyfriends. A few of my friends are pretty flamboyant. I don’t know. It’s just _different_.”

Louis is certain that this is true.

Louis’d gone out with them those two nights he’d spent in Chicago, before, when he’d met Harry’s ex-boyfriend. The dude and Harry hadn’t, like, held hands or kissed in public or anything like that, at least not until they’d gotten to the club. And the club was decidedly gay. Nonetheless, Louis’d been itchingly aware that everyone who saw the group of them probably knew that they were gay. Or that some of them were. Or whatever.

“Is it better different?” Louis asks, already knowing the answer. Harry wouldn’t’ve stayed away so long if it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Harry says with less certainty than Louis’d expected. “I suppose.”  

“I’m not there,” Louis blusters, mostly joking.

“No, you’re not.” Harry’s voice sounds thick, heavy with disappointment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: lots of alcohol and some very drunk kisses.


	4. July 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilery warnings in the endnotes for real this time.

 

“What’s next? Are you going back to school?” Dan’s father smiles at Louis, blinking into the sun. 

Louis looks away. Seaweed clings to the sides of the docked pontoon boat. Louis doesn’t think Dan’s taken it out on the lake once this summer.

“I’m focusing on the farm, right now,” he replies, quietly.

“Can a person really make a life for his family farming, these days? My great-grandfather owned some land and a few dairy cows, but you never hear about that kind of thing now.” Dan’s father addresses the question to Dan, not Louis.

Dan answers easily, “The farm’s been in Johanna’s family for generations. It’s not really making any money now, but it has a lot of sentimental value for them. It’s really quaint, worth the upkeep in my opinion, very American Dream.”  

Louis balls up his fists. He can’t sit here much longer. Who _the fuck_ do they think they are? Maybe Dan’s father hasn’t heard about any modern day farmers because he lives in the fucking suburbs and only interacts with people at his goddamn country club. Maybe the farm would bring in some money if Dan would _invest_ some money in it. _Fuck._

Louis’ phone buzzes in the little plastic cup holder and when Louis looks down at it he sees a text from Zayn.  

‘Happy 4th!” followed by a series of fireworks emojis. It’s probably some mass text that the aunt he’s staying with in LA made him send (or perhaps even sent for him), but Louis hasn’t heard from the fucker in weeks. He hops off the boat, dialing Zayn’s number as he makes his way up to the bench in his mom’s back garden.

Zayn answers immediately. “Bro.”

“Happy America Day, fucker,” Louis tells him.

“We Muslims don’t celebrate that holiday, asshole,” Zayn says, as if he hadn’t just sent Louis a text explicitly stating the opposite, as if he and Louis hadn’t spent the last ten summers lighting bottle rockets together at the public beach in Glen River.

“Fuck off. I haven’t forgotten everything I know about you,” Louis replies, kicking at the wood chips underneath his feet.

“Liam tells me I’ve been replaced,” Zayn says. He doesn’t sound too upset about it. Whenever Louis’d tried to make him feel guilty for leaving, swearing he’d be the loneliest asshole in Lake County, Zayn’d assured him he’d find someone else to dick around with.

He’s wrong, though. He hasn’t found anyone else he can smoke a blunt and watch Animal Planet with multiple nights a week. That kind of friend is rare as hell, turns out.  

“I haven’t replaced you,” Louis assures him.

“Harry’s back in town, though,” Zayn presses. Zayn and Harry had never been close, Louis knows. Back in high school, they were always whining to him about something or other the other had done and he’d long ago lost track as to what the fuck had begun their pissing contest.

“Yeah, just for the summer,” Louis says with a sigh.

“Liam thinks he might stick around longer.”

“Liam hasn’t realized that once people leave this shithole, they don’t come back, except to visit once a summer. If that.” Louis isn’t successful at keeping the bitterness out of his voice. Honestly, he doesn’t even try.

Fuck Zayn for abandoning him. He gets it with Harry. With Harry, that’d always been the plan. And Harry had a life- a job, friends, a reason he couldn’t be here.

Not so, with Zayn. As far as Louis could tell, Zayn’d just wanted to get the fuck away from home.

“I’m sorry, Louis. You’d’ve gotten out, too. If you were in my position. You know you would’ve,” Zayn says.

And no, Louis doesn’t know that, at all. Still he says, “Maybe, bro. Maybe. How’s things? Hit it big yet?”

Of course, Zayn has not.

~

Louis awakens to a series of clatters from downstairs. He blinks his eyes open and grasps for his phone on the floor, overreaching and falling out of bed.

A few missed calls from Robin, but none from his mom.

He understands that his mom _owns_ the farmhouse, but he wishes that she’d let him know before stopping by. Like, what if he had someone upstairs with him or something.

Actually, given how many questions she generally has about his love life, she’s probably _hoping_ she’ll meet Louis’ ‘secret girlfriend’ on one of her impromptu visits. 

Louis doesn’t bother to throw on a shirt or actual pants. His mom can fucking deal with seeing him in his boxers at fucking nine o’clock in the fucking morning.

Except.

The person in his kitchen is not his mom.

“Harry,” he says.

Harry doesn’t hear him. He’s playing music on his phone and he’s got the sink running, as he moves pots from one cupboard to another.

“Harry.” Louis shouts this time.

Harry whirls around and his eyes move up and down Louis’ mostly bare body. His mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again.

“I thought you were on a job with Robin this morning. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He sets down a big frying pan and then walks over to the sink to turn off the faucet.

Louis scratches his head and tries to think. Harry’s right. He looks at his phone and the three missed calls from Harry’s stepdad. He was supposed to meet him on the other side of the lake an hour ago.

“Shit. Yeah,” Louis says. “I am. Shit.”

He begins to make his way back upstairs and to put on his work clothes. But then he remembers that Harry Styles is in his kitchen and he turns right back around.

“What the fuck are you doing here, though? How did you get in?”

Harry’s turning the sink back on, but he stops at Louis’ question. “Remember? Your mom said I could do some baking here. Gonna supply some specialty cookies and candies to some of the shops in Glen River and Lakeland.”

“Stylin’ Sweets.” Louis does remember.

“Yep,” Harry replies, dimples popping. “As for how I got in, Jay dropped a spare key by yesterday. I think my mom already had one, but I’m glad to have my own, though it’s not like you lock the door.”

“I do, too,” Louis protests. He does. Most of the time. At least more than half the time.

“Wasn’t locked this morning,” Harry says, turning back to the sink.

Louis flicks Harry off. Harry doesn’t see, but it still feels good.

When Louis returns to the kitchen- having texted Robin that he’s on his way- Harry’s unpacking the dozen or so cloth grocery bags that are now completely covering the countertop. He opens Louis’ fridge.

“It’s empty.”

Louis reaches around him to grab the milk. “It’s not actually empty. Don’t be dramatic.” 

Along with the half-gallon of milk, he’s got a case of beer, a quart of strawberries, and a few take-out boxes.

Harry shakes his head and nabs a strawberry. “Well, it won’t be empty for long.”

“Whatever,” Louis says, trying to act like he really doesn’t give a shit, like the idea of having Harry in and out of his space for the rest of the summer doesn’t freak him the fuck out.

“Question,” Harry says. He’s stopped what he’s doing to watch Louis pour himself a bowl of Corn Pops.

“Yeah?” Louis says, lifting the bowl up to chin level.

“What happened to Fred and Jenny?” Harry leans back against the counter. There’s a little line between his brows and he sounds distressed. Louis remembers he’d had a special bond with the goats.

Through a mouthful of cereal, Louis says, “They’re gone.”

Harry’s mouth pinches. “Where to?”

Louis opens his mouth again and a little bit of milk dribbles down his chin. He reaches up a hand to wipe the wetness away. “Goat heaven, probably.”

Harry makes a little noise of pain. “Oh, no. They were such good goats. Well, except when Jenny ate all the peppers in your mom’s garden. She didn’t know any better, though. I don’t think goats have a sense of right and wrong or mine and yours. Did you bury them around here?”

Louis chuckles, setting his now empty bowl into the sink. “We ate them, Styles, obviously.”

“You didn’t.” Harry sounds dead certain he’s right.

“Sure, we did,” Louis lies. The truth is they’d sold them off a couple years ago when the rest of the family had moved out because Louis’ mom hadn’t trusted Louis to take proper care of them of them. Smart move, probably.

“I don’t believe you, Lou,” Harry says. Turning back to the sink, he scolds, “Anyway, you’re late. Shoo.”

Louis is and so he does.

~

“Are you trying to kill me?” Louis asks Harry as he sets yet another tupperware of food on top of the two Louis’ already carrying.

“Is it too much for you?” Harry’s face softens, but Louis knows he’s fucking with him.

“Fuck off. I’m stronger than _you_ ,” Louis shoots back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, but before he can argue the front door of the house opens and Liam steps out, beer in hand. “Hey guys! You made it. And you’re even early.”

He’s wearing a blue and white striped apron around his waist and as he moves forward his arms get caught in the strings of the yellow balloons attached to the handle of the screen door.

“Fuck, goddamnit,” he calls out, waving limbs around uselessly.

Louis says, “Maybe we’ll go around back.”

Sophia’s face peeks over his shoulder. “No, the food’s gotta come in the kitchen. Hey, Harry.”

Harry’s got a bag slung over one shoulder, but other than that _his_ arms are free to slam the jeep door shut and wave at her. “Hey, Sophia.”

“No ‘hello’ for me, then?” Louis says, making his way up the steps.

“You’re not bringing me cake and dinner rolls and homemade pretzels dipped in chocolate,” Sophia replies, pushing past Liam, who’s still fumbling with the balloons and ribbon, to grab the top tupperware out of Louis’ arms.

“Neither is Harry,” Louis tells her haughtily. “These are for Dale.”

“Aha!” Liam calls, finally freeing himself, and pushing the door all the way open.

Dale’s laying on the floor of the living room wearing green dinosaur pajamas and totally engrossed in Rapunzel signing on screen. “Happy birthday, buddy,” Louis calls out to him.

“I’m watching a movie,” he replies.

The movie pauses and both Louis and Dale turn around to see Sophia frowning down at her son, her head tilted and her eyebrows raised. “Now politely greet your guests, Dale.”

Dale sighs and then says, “Hi, Louis. Hi, Harry.”

“Happy Birthday,” Harry tells him, brightly. “Your mom told me you wanted a Lego cake.”

“She wouldn’t let me have a Rapunzel one,” Dale moans.

“She what?” Harry sounds appalled. And, oh God, Louis’ heard his rant about the gendering of children’s toys before- and he agrees, but, like, you can’t tell someone else how to raise their own kid.

And, anyway, this particular kid _does_ need some toughening up, in Louis’ humble opinion.

“He only asked for that _this morning_ ,” Sophia explains. “And I knew you’d already bought all the stuff for the other.”

“And he’s a boy,” Liam puts in.

“I’m a boy and I like princesses,” Harry replies.

“Well, you are very special kind of boy, Harry,” Liam says. And then, “Beer’s in the fridge. Help yourself. I’m finishing up some stuff in the back if you want to help, Louis.”

Louis grabs a Miller Light- Liam’s his one friend with good taste- and then follows him outside to fill up a kiddie pool, put out tables and chairs for _forty_ (which, the kid’s only turning _five,_ Jesus Christ), and set up crocket.

He’s in the middle of wrestling Liam over who gets to play with the red mallet when Harry walks out with a tray of veggies and dip.

“Lou,” he says. Louis lets go of Liam and smiles at Harry. They were working. He’ll swear it on his grandpa’s grave.

“Can you help Sophia and her mom bring the rest of the food outside? People will probably be arriving in fifteen minutes or so.” Harry picks up a piece of broccoli and bites into it as he heads back inside.

Louis runs across the yard to trail him closely. “Why can’t you help put the rest out? Liam and I were still finishing up on the yard.”

Harry turns around and puts his hands on his hips. “Do I look like I’m ready for the party?”

Louis takes him in. He’s wearing a thin white tee-shirt and very, _very_ tight black skinny jeans. His hair sits atop his head in a bun, a few curls coming loose at his neck.  “I don’t see why not.”

Louis himself is in basketball shorts, which, admittedly are not proper party attire, but the kid is only _five_ and they were the only bottoms Louis had clean.

Harry frowns. “I have to change. Help Sophia.”

~

The shirt Harry has changed into is a pale yellow and covered in motorcycles. He looks like a model in it, especially beside the rest of the dudes at party, mostly wearing Lakers orange and khaki shorts.

Louis wants to make fun of him for being so wildly eccentric- whoever heard of a silk shirt with _motorcycles_ before- but Dale _loves_ it.

He insists that Harry let him sit on his lap and touch each different colored motorcycle. This is how Louis finds them, about an hour into the party.

It’s time to cut the cake and half the town is in the backyard, waiting for Dale’s appearance, plates loaded up with grilled meats a la Liam and goodies Louis had no idea Harry’d been making in his kitchen. But Harry and the birthday boy are inside on the couch, cuddled up and talking motorcycles.

When Louis sees them, his heart trips up and he bites back a smile.

“Of course, I’ve ridden one,” Harry is saying, as Louis slowly enters the room.

“You have not,” Dale protests. “Liam hasn’t even ridden a motorcycle and he’s a soldier and a cop.”

“Well, Harold is a rockstar. Aren’t you, Harry?” Louis says, situating himself on the couch beside them.

Dale’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t even turn to glance at Louis. Harry’s captured his full attention. “Do you play the drums?”

Harry shakes his head. “The guitar.”

Dale hops off his lap and folds his arms across his chest. He sticks his chin out, just like Liam sometimes does, and says, “Show me.”

“Oh, no,” Harry says shaking his head. “I can’t play today.”

Dale’s eyes narrow. “Yes, you can. Niall has a guitar. He always keeps it in his car."

Harry shakes his head harder and Louis’ attention is captured by the way his hair sways with the movement. It suits him so well, long like this. “I can only play guitar on Tuesday afternoons and it’s Saturday today.”

Dale’s lip pops out. “But it’s my _birthday_.”

And _this-_ tears- Louis does not have the energy for. “And because it’s your birthday, you have a cake a outside!”

Louis knows from raising his siblings, the most effective tactic with most preschoolers is _distract distract distract_.

Dale remains quiet, so Louis stands and gestures toward the door. “Well?”

“Is it a motorcycle cake?” he asks, slowly letting his arms drop to his sides.

Sophia walks into the room and frowns down at Dale. Her hair looks perfect and her makeup looks perfect and her little black sundress looks perfect. It’s no wonder Liam waited so long for her, really. To her decidedly not perfect son, she says, “Alright, young man. Are you giving these guys a hard time? I thought you were excited for the cake! It’s chocolate and we have ice cream. Come on, birthday boy.”

Dale groans, but takes the hand she’s offering him and lets her lead him outside.

The cake is heavenly. Like, maybe the best thing Louis has _ever_ eaten. He’s got a plate of it perched in his lap as he sits beside his mom, watching Doris chase Dale around the yard, threatening to rub her frosting covered hands in his hair. Dale deserves it after refusing to finish his own cake, which is probably why no adult has intervened.

“This cake is delicious. I’ve never been able to make a cake this moist,” his mom exclaims, going in her for her second bite.

“That’s true, you haven’t,” Louis says and she reaches out to swat at him.

“Did Harry make this? He’s turned into quite the baker.” She sounds surprised. She shouldn’t be. Harry’s always been interested in cooking and baking and he’s always been damn good at it. On top of which, she’s supporting his baking business by letting him use Louis’ kitchen.

Liam, who’s standing nearby, his plate holding three small slices of cake, says, “Harry’s a god in the kitchen. If I wasn’t already married, he’d be exactly the type of housewife I’d be looking for.”

“Well, you are married. And I’m not sure Sophia would like to hear you talk like that,” Louis bites back. Harry’s no house _wife_ and he’s definitely not _Liam’s_ housewife. What the hell.  

“He could make a wonderful husband someday,” Louis’ mother says wistfully. She’d sure as hell better not be suggesting that _she’s_ interested. But then she adds, “Too bad I’ve heard his, you know, type rarely actually settle down.”

The cake in Louis’ mouth suddenly tastes too moist, too heavy and sticky, making it difficult to swallow.

“Mom,” he manages to say before Liam cuts him off.

“Oh, I don’t know, Ms. Jay. I think Harry’s exactly the type to settle down. He’s on the prowl for a husband, for sure.”

Louis turns to look at Liam, jaw dropping.

Liam shakes his head. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know he was gay.”

Louis isn’t even tempted to pretend that. He didn’t know that Liam knew. Had Harry told him? Had Liam guessed? Who else knows?

“I knew,” Louis tells him.

Liam shrugs and takes his now empty plate. “Let me throw this away for you. Got dad duties to attend to inside. Ms. Jay, you finished with yours?”

His mother hands the plate over. To Louis, she says, “Do you really think Harry’ll try to get married?”

She sounds less scandalized and more, well, more curious.

Louis nods. Liam’s right. Harry’s the type to find true love: endlessly lucky.

~

They’re gathered around the picnic table piled high with presents while Liam stands by with his phone out to capture the whole ordeal on film.

It might take some time.

Dale picks up one package at time turning it over in his hands and then setting it down only to do the same with the next and the next and the next. He can’t seem to choose which to open first.

Finally, he says, “I want the present from Harry. Which one is that?”

“Shit,” Harry hisses, right into Louis’ ear. “I left it in the back of the jeep.”

Louis says, “I can get it, if you want.”

Harry nods and presses the keys into his hand.  

In the back of Harry’s jeep, Louis finds the giant stuffed teddy bear he’d won for Harry at Strawberry Fest. Around its neck, Harry has tied a giant red bow and in its arms rests a card addressed to Dale.

The sight stops Louis in his tracks and wave of sadness washes over him so heavy that he almost sits down in the street.

Chicago has changed Harry. Almost every day Louis discovers something different about him. Maybe he doesn’t like stuffed animals anymore.

Or.

Or maybe he doesn’t want a stuffed animal _from Louis_ , not after Louis’ rejected him _again._  

Louis lifts the bear out of the trunk and begins to walk around the house.

It’s probably just that Harry doesn’t have room for it. His bedroom in his parents’ house isn’t that big and his bedroom in Chicago is probably smaller still.

The thing is.

Louis had sort of hoped that maybe Harry’d want to find a way to keep it, to remember their one night together. But he supposes the night, the almost date, the _kiss_ , hadn’t meant as much to Harry as it had to him.

As soon as he opens the gate in the back, Dale starts shouting. “I love it! I love it! I love it!”

He runs over and tugs the bear right out of Louis’s arms. “It’s perfect! Thank you, Harry!”

Harry’s beaming and Louis thinks maybe it’s okay that Harry didn’t want to keep the bear. Maybe Dale’s happiness is worth it.

“Thank Louis, too. It’s from him, as well,” Harry says.

Dale drops the bear and wraps his arms around Louis legs. “You’re my favorite uncles.”

Leaning up against the picnic table, Louis can see Sophia’s brother glaring at them. Louis can’t help but think that maybe if the dude had wanted to be the favorite uncle he should have made a cake and shown up early and bought his nephew a giant bear for his birthday.

Louis meets Harry’s eyes and smirks. Harry smiles back, wide, and waggles his eyebrows as he walks over for his own birthday boy hug. When Harry reaches them, Dale pulls both Harry and the bear into his and Louis’ hug.

“Sweetie, you have a whole table full of other presents. Come on,” Sophia sounds exasperated, but also pleased.

“That was your bear, Harry,” Louis says quietly, once the attention of the crowd has refocused on Dale pulling the paper off a box of legos.

“You won it,” Harry replies. “And I didn’t think you’d remember to bring your own gift.”

Louis had planned on getting the kid a gift. He likes shopping for kids.

But the week had gotten away from him- he’d had a job every fucking day- and he might not have even made it to the party at all if Harry hadn’t come to pick up the cake.

“You have no faith in me” he says. And then, “I kind of thought you’d like to keep that bear for yourself. To remember me when you’re back in Chicago.” He means for it to sound like a joke, but as he whispers, his voice cracks, and Harry must realize how serious he is.

Harry elbows him and, even though he’s smiling softly, his dimples are visible, deep, even. “You’ll just have to win me another next year.”

Niall’s gift is last to be opened: a set of maracas and a tambourine. As Dale begins to shake the latter, Niall says, “And I have one more present for you. Well, we all do.”

And, _shit_ , Louis’d forgotten this. Purposely. And he’d hoped everyone else would, too.

“We’ve written you a very special song,” Niall says.

“I LOVE ONE DIRECTION!” Dale shouts, jumping up and down. “WILL IS THE BEST!”

Louis has no idea how Dale knows about One Direction, but it’s the most enthusiasm he’s shown all night. More even than he’d shown for the giant bear. Maybe the kid’s alright after all.

Into Louis’ ear, Harry whispers, “Kid’s got good taste.” Then, more loudly, he says, “Give us a minute, we’ve got to change.”

A small cheer goes up, mostly among their asshole friends.

The ‘special song’ Niall’s referring to is one of the ones they’d written the year after Louis’d graduated from high school, except that Harry’s changed all the words, so that what was once a love song is now a song about a little boy fighting dragons on a motorcycle.

Louis thinks it’s an improvement.

It’s clear as soon as they start to sing that Dale agrees. He dances wildly, laughing and shouting along all the wrong words. At the end of the last chorus he launches himself into Liam’s arms and Liam, the lovesick fool, beams over at Sophia, looking prouder even than he does in the pic of him in his army uniform Louis’ mom keeps on her fridge.  

“Another!” Dale demands.

Standing, Sophia shakes her head. “No, sweetie. It’s time for people to be getting home.”

“I’m not taking a nap,” he tells her, surprising a laugh out of Louis.

Liam says, “How’s this, we’ll let you come to the next One Direction practice and you can sing Will’s part until Louis shows up. If he shows up.”

Louis rolls his eyes. The digs about his poor punctuality _do_ get old.

“I’ll make sure he gets there,” Harry says, beginning to wrap up the mic chord.

Niall cackles. “I’m sure you will. Just like you made sure he had a birthday present for Dale.”

Louis frowns at them, reaching for his beer.  He hadn’t thought about it until just now, but maybe, yeah, maybe it’s weird that they’d had a joint present. Like, Louis’ done the same thing lots of times before, going in with Zayn and Niall on a birthday present for Liam and vice versa.

But Harry hadn’t even asked him before attaching his name to the gift. And it was just the two of them. And, well, now they’ve _kissed,_ so maybe…

Liam claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks so much, man. You two really did a lot for us today. Means a lot. I owe you guys one.”

“Shut up.” Louis pulls him into a hug. Into his ear, “We did it for Sophia.”

 _We_ did it. 

_Fuck_. Niall’s right. He and Harry are becoming something of a unit.

~

Louis comes home from a job with Robin late one Friday afternoon to find Harry sitting at the big kitchen table on his computer. The room smells like warm bread and Harry’s folded up in his chair, arms around his knees, pen behind his ear, totally engrossed in whatever he’s doing.

Louis can’t remember the last time anyone had sat at the big wooden table. It was handmade by his great-grandfather and Louis thinks it’s been in his family almost as long as the land it sits on.

It’s sat unused for way too long; the whole place has.

Louis hadn’t realized how lonely the Farmhouse had become until Harry showed up.

“Harry,” he says Harry’s name softly, not wanting to startle him.

Harry jumps nonetheless and then turns in his seat to glare at Louis. “What?”

Louis laughs. “Sorry, I just wanted you to know that I’m home.”

Harry rolls his eyes and turns back to his computer.

It’s clear that Harry’s busy, not interested in talking, but Louis’d been on his own most of the day and he _is_ interested in talking. He figures if Harry’s gonna spend his days in Louis’ house, then he can deal with being interrupted every now and then.

He pulls out the chair across from Harry and sits down heavily. “What’cha up to?”

Harry glares at him. “Work. I need to finish this promo plan before Nick gets here.”

“Wait. Nick’s coming?” Louis asks.

Harry’s mentioned that Nick’s due for a visit, but he hadn’t named a date and time. The ferocity with which he’s typing now would indicate that a date and time has been chosen and it’s very, very soon.

“Harry,” Louis pushes. “I asked you a question.”

Harry looks up. He’s _pissed,_ now, and a little thrill runs through Louis.

“When is Nick coming?”

Harry bites his lip and shakes his head, looking back at his screen. He hits a key repetitively, and then answers, “Tomorrow. And I told him that I’d have a whole strategy for our fall plan ready to talk over when he arrived, but I’ve been so busy getting Stylin’ Sweets off the ground that I’ve barely had time to sleep, let alone think about _this_.”

Harry presses a palm into his left eye and then his right, groaning a little. Louis wonders if he has a headache from staring at the computer screen too long. Louis remembers that used to bug him, way back when. Louis’ laptop is slow as shit and his mom has discontinued cable DSL service to the Farmhouse, so he mostly uses his phone these days.

Sighing, Louis stands and fills a cup of water in the sink. He reaches into the freezer to find that yes, Harry’s filled his ice trays and so he drops a couple of cubes into the cup. He sets it on the table beside Harry.

“I’m sure he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t, just feed him one of your chocolate chip cookies. He’ll forget he ever wanted anything else.”

Harry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a sip of water and murmurs, “Thanks, Lou.”

“I have the day off tomorrow,” Louis says, even though he absolutely has to spend a solid five or six hours on the tractor cutting and baling the hay. “I can entertain him while you finish up, if you need me to.”

Harry’s smile widens, more convincing now. “Really? I mean, I wouldn’t make you take off if you couldn’t, but I’d really like for you guys to meet each other. Niall and Liam are gonna try to get some time off, too. I wanted to go up to the Top of the World. You know, show him the most incredible view in Lake County. Hell, it’s probably even the most beautiful view in the whole world, isn’t it? Anyway, he’s not really the hiking type. So I think we’ll probably just meet at the rope swing.”

“Sounds fun,” Louis says, even though sharing Harry’s attention with some Chicago douchebag sounds anything but fun. And, like, If he’s not really ‘the hiking type,’ what’s he doing with Harry anyway, _Jesus Christ._

Harry laughs. “It _will_ be fun, I promise.”

Louis drums his fingers on the table and doesn’t reply.

“Oh,” Harry says, taking another sip of water. “Your mom called. She wants to see you for dinner, if you can. Dan’s out of town and she’s hoping you can change the batteries in one of the smoke alarms.”  

Louis makes a face.

Harry laughs. “I told her I’d do it, if you couldn’t.”

Louis smacks Harry in the back of the head. “My mom’s neediness is not your problem. You worry about getting this work done.”

Harry meets his eyes, dimples _finally_ popping, and Louis is so _fucked._

~

Louis turns off the highway and onto the two track, gravel flying as he pulls his truck in close behind Harry’s jeep. Niall’s shitty Buick is there, too, a few feet down the road.

The path to the river is already well worn and someone’s even chopped up the log that was lying across it the last two summers. As he reaches the top of the embankment Louis hears a shout and a splash.

And, then, “Liam, you dick.... I wasn’t fucking ready.” Niall’s gasping for air and choking through his shouts and Liam is cackling madly.

Another splash and then Louis can see them. Liam is bobbing up and down in the water beside a still sputtering Niall and Cara and Kendall are on the bank, stripping down to their bikinis.

Harry’s sitting crosslegged on a giant rock, in his tiny track shorts. The fucker’s never even run track so there’s no need for him to be this naked, Louis thinks bitterly, before he freezes.

Nick’s here.

Like, Louis _knew_ Nick would be here. That’s why Louis has come out, after all, to meet Harry’s friend, but for some reason, seeing the dude leaning up against a tree (on his fucking _phone_ ), surprises him.

Nick’s tall for one, probably taller than Harry, and maybe skinnier, too. He’s dressed- _shit_ \- in jean overall shorts. Louis wants to know where the fuck someone even finds that kind of thing. He vaguely remembers his mom wearing something similar back in the day, but like, it’s so _strange._

And it’s also not really appropriate to wear to swimming. Louis’ been pushed into the lake in denim enough times to know that it weighs you down and clings to your skin.  

Louis runs a hand through his hair and fiddles with the drawstring on his basketball shorts. “What’s up, fuckers?!” he calls, finally, drawing everyone’s attention.

Then, as people shout their hellos, Louis runs past Cara and Kendall and shimmies up the tree. He ignores the burn of the bark against his thigh as he goes, eager to reach the branch from which the rope hangs. When he gets there, he edges out onto it, lowers himself onto the rope and swings out, canonballing into the river.

He hits with a smack, water flying everywhere as he goes under. Surfacing with a gasp, he’s pleased see that he’s aimed perfectly and Kendall’s caught the rope on shore.

Foregoing the rope, Harry hops into the river and swims over to him. Louis has to stand on his tip-toes to keep his head above the water and Harry, knowing this, takes hold of his shoulders and easily pushes him under.

He’s not ready for it and he chokes a little as he struggles for the upper hand. He manages to pull Harry under with him and they both come up laughing.

“You gonna introduce your lame-ass friend, apparently too good for our rope swing and dirty-ass river?” Louis asks because even with Harry’s mostly naked body pressed up against his own, Louis is very preoccupied with the presence of the other guy, of Nick.

Harry frowns. “He didn’t know we were going swimming.”

“He drove all the way up from Chicago to stay at your parents’ lake house and he didn’t bring anything to swim in,” Louis hisses.

“I thought we were going skinny dipping,” Nick calls. He’s standing right on the edge of the bank now, phone gone, grinning at them. “That’s what Harold and I always do in Lake Michigan.”

He has his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised and Louis hates him.

He believes it, is the thing. Why wouldn’t Harry go skinny dipping in Lake Michigan with his sort-of boyfriend?

Louis’ supposes he’s gone skinny dipping with Harry plenty of times. But it’s always been out of necessity or practicality or Harry’s _whim,_ never romance.

“We could go skinny dipping, right now,” Cara says. Beside her Kendall is still toying with the rope, as if deciding whether, not when, to swing.

Louis thinks that if she wants to see Harry naked, all she has to do is ask, probably. Harry’s never been modest. He knows he has an impressive dick.

Which, Louis is not supposed to think about _that_.

Harry laughs, though, and says, “Let’s do it.” He’s reaching into the water, even as he speaks, as if to pull off his shorts.

Louis breathes out a shaky breath. They’ve been naked and inches away from each other plenty of times in the past. This won’t be any different. No different at all.

No reason to panic. None whatsoever.

He’s saved by Kendall. “No, gross,” she says, covering her eyes. “Put your dick away, Harry. Literally no one here wants to see it.”

Definitely not true. If he’s being honest, Louis can name three people here who would love to see Harry’s dick.

Cara cackles and pushes Kendall off the bank and, shrieking, over the river. She swings a few times before letting go and dropping down beside them.

Niall floats over. “You still think you can do a backflip, Louis?”

Louis nods. Of course, he can.

Nick folds his arms across his chest and smiles at him. “This I have to see.”

“You just want to see me fail. Or break my neck,” Louis hisses back, climbing out of the river and carefully up the muddy slope. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. He doesn’t even _know_ Nick.

“That’s right. You’ve already got me figured out. I’m a sadistic asshole,” Nick returns, nodding. “Yeah.”

Harry, who has followed Louis out of the water, cackles. “I knew you guys would like each other.”

Louis executes the flip perfectly, and everyone is cheering when he surfaces. “I’d like to see someone else pull that off,” he shouts. He knows that, of the group gathered, he’s _by far_ the best at this shit (arguably, save Liam). But he does like to see the others try.

And, for some reason, it’s very important that _Nick_ know what he’d done was no easy trick.

“I will do it,” Harry volunteers.

To which Louis shakes his head. That is a bad idea.

Although, what does he know. Perhaps Harry’d learned to pull off a rope swing backflip in Chicago.

(Yeah fucking right, he did.)

Harry does manage to get his feet over his head, to Louis’ surprise, but he hits the water too soon and too spread out, his stomach smacking hard.

His chest is bright pink as he swims over to frown at Louis. “I don’t know how you do that. I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve-”

He stops talking as Kendall flips over in the air, higher and more gracefully than even Louis can manage.

“That’s my _girl_ ,” shouts Cara canonballing in besider her.

Now they’re all in the river except Nick, who’s pulled out his phone. He’s holding it in their direction and Louis can’t tell if he’s taking pictures or texting someone and he doesn’t know which would piss him off more.

Being on his phone at all is pretty damn rude.

Louis doesn’t have time to think much about it because suddenly Harry’s tackling him again, the fucker. He groans, pushes back, and then they’re wrestling, wet limbs sliding over one another, heads bobbing in and out of the water, laughing and gasping for breath.

Harry’s legs come around Louis’ waist, and he throws his weight to the side, trying to knock them both over and under again. The movement thrusts his dick against Louis’ stomach and Louis feels it- hot and more than half-hard. His hands slide down to Harry’s waist, steadying him and pulling him closer, at once.

Into Harry’s ear, he whispers, “Fucking stop.”

But Harry doesn’t stop. Harry repeats the motion, with more force, and, _fuck_ , Louis’ hard, too, and they both topple into the river. The impact loosens Harry’s grip, freeing Louis. Louis stays under water, swimming away from Harry as fast and hard as he can. When he comes up, Harry is standing close to the bank, where the water’s only up to his stomach, with his hands behind his head, talking again to Nick, cool as a cucumber.

What the _fuck._ Louis _hates_ Harry. And fucking Nick.

~

Pizza Castle is packed, as it should be on Saturday night. Even the tourists know that this place is the fucking bomb.

Grease covers _everything_ , the tables, the counters, the hair of the guy that rings them up. Even the ‘fresh’ napkins he hands Louis with his order of breadsticks are greasy.

Louis is in heaven.

He hasn’t had anything from here in at least ten days and the BBQ chicken pizza is probably better than sex.

No, actually, Louis thinks as he sinks his teeth into the first bite, it’s _definitely_ better than sex.

Beside him, Harry’s moaning into his own slice of pizza.

He’d begged Louis to split a large and Louis’d very reluctantly agreed. Even though he knows he’s not in his prime and can no longer down a whole pizza on his own, he’s very hungry and who knows, today might be the day he’s able to relive his youth.

“I would not have pegged a hipster foodie like you to enjoy a place like this,” Nick says to Harry, picking a layer of pickles off his sub.

Louis cannot _believe_ he’s not eating pizza, but some people just refuse to be told what’s what.

“I don’t like your attitude, Nicholas,” Harry replies, mouth full.

“This is the best pizza known to man,” Liam chimes in. “The barbeque one, especially. I don’t know what they do to the sauce, but it is incredible.”

Louis smirks because he’s got a gob of said sauce on the front of his uniform that no one’s bothered to tell him about.  

“Fit for a _king_ ,” Harry tells Nick. “Didn’t you see all the reviews on the wall as you came in?”

“Yeah, I did. Best pizza place in town twenty years in a row. Well, that’s not tough to do when you’re the _only_ pizza place in town.”

“There are at least five other places that serve pizza within twenty miles of here, so shut your mouth,” Louis jumps in. “And you have no room to judge, seeing as you’re eating _a sub._ And not even the barbeque one that Harry, here, suggested you get.”

“Yeah,” Harry chimes in around another bite.

“At least, I won’t be having the shits later,” Nick teases back.

He can’t know, but he has hit the mark with that one. However, “You should be so lucky as to have to end the night early due to Pizza Castle shits. You’d be among the best of men.”

“You’re disgusting,” Nick tells him, but he’s smiling and it makes him look younger, kinder. The thought has Louis shifting, bottom squeaking against the plastic seat of his chair.

“I gotta get back to work, _bros_ ,” Liam interrupts, standing. He folds up the box, half a pizza inside because that asshole still apparently thinks he can eat the whole damn thing on his own.

“When do you get off for the night?” Louis asks. He’s sure he’s already been told, but he can’t remember. “Will we see you?”

Liam’s brows draw together. “Unfortunately, it’s my turn to work the Saturday night shift. Someone needs to make sure all the drunk tourists are safe and happy.”

“Well, then, let’s hope we _don’t_ see you,” Louis tells him, lifting a fresh slice of pizza to his mouth.

Liam shakes his head, laughing, as he leaves.

~

They end up at Horan’s, partly because Niall’s working and partly because that’s where they _always_ end up.

Niall’s bought them a pitcher of beer on the house in honor of Nick and Louis takes it upon himself to pour the last of it into his empty cup. He’s not shy.

“You really think you’re cute enough we’ll just let you have the rest?” Nick asks.

He’s pressed into the corner of the booth right beside Louis and when Louis turns his head to look at him, he’s smirking.

“No one’s ever called me ‘cute’ before,” Louis says.

It’s not entirely true. His mom calls him that, for one, and when he’s Will basically everyone calls him ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’ But he knows he’s small and, sort of pretty for a dude, so he’s done his _damn_ best to fight that first impression and win himself a little bit of a tough guy reputation.

Grow a little scruff; have dirty, calloused, working man’s hands; get in a few fights; have a steady, beautiful girlfriend- then people don’t call you cute.

Except that apparently some people do.

Harry’s gay Chicago radio personality friend Nick, does.

He’s got a lot of balls, too, cause he doesn’t stop there. No, he goes in for the tickle, fingers diving toward Louis’ ribs with purpose.

Louis tries to squirm out of the way, but it doesn’t really work, not with Harry blocking him in and when Nick finds his target, Louis lets out an embarrassingly feminine yelp.

Over his shoulder, Harry says, “Nick, stop it,” as if Louis needs him to come to his defense.

“Shut up, Harry,” Louis says. But before he can add something about how he can take care of himself, Nick says, “Yeah, shut up, Harry. He likes it.”

Louis glares at Nick.

Nick grins back at him and shakes his head. “Harry did not tell me enough about you. And that’s saying something cause he talks about you _a lot_.”

Harry squirms a little, and fiddles with the straw in his water, not meeting Louis’ gaze. Louis really wants him to meet his gaze, too, because he wants an excuse not to look back at Nick, whose eyes are still on him, heavy and happy in a way that makes his stomach flutter.

Across the table, Cara and Kendall are in their own world, totally absorbed in something on Cara’s phone. Between them and Louis is the empty pitcher and he grabs it.

Shoving at Harry’s shoulder, he says, “Gonna go to the bar and fill this baby up.”

Harry lets himself be pushed, but he doesn’t move to get up, instead giving Louis a pout.

Louis bops him on the nose.

Now, Harry. Harry is someone you could call ‘cute.’

“You volunteered to be the designated driver, so quit pouting,” he says, deciding this _must_ be the reason for Harry’s newly darkened attitude.

Harry sticks out his tongue. Then, he says, “Can’t trust _you_ to do it, can I?”

“No, you can’t,” Louis agrees, because it’s true. If he’s gonna spend an entire evening entertaining one of Harry’s gay friends- probably Harry’s _boyfriend-_ he’s not staying sober for it, no fucking way.

He fights his way through the crowd. He’s glad to see the place packed, and he’s sure Niall is, too. If they didn’t do good business on July Saturdays, they’d be in trouble too deep to get out of, being right downtown and on the river, like they are.

Before he reaches the bar, someone grabs his arm and then he’s being pulled into a hug.

“Louis, bro, how ya been?"

It’s Oli, who’s hugged him. He’d been in Louis’ grade throughout school in Edwardsville. He and Calvin, who’s standing beside him, kept Louis company in class, even though Louis freely admits his _best_ friends were and always will be the One Direction boys, all a year or two behind him.

But these two are still important to him and they both live far away now, meaning the closest contact he’s had with them in years has been through stalking their Facebook pages.

“I’m _great_. Didn’t know either of you were in town this weekend,” he tells them.

“I tried to message you on Facebook, bro, but you never responded,” Calvin says, nodding sagely into his beer. “I didn’t really expect you to, though. My brothers are busy as shit with baling this weekend, so I figured that’s where you’d be, too, more than likely.”

Louis shrugs. That’s where he should be. His uncle lives thirty miles east on a dairy farm and he doesn’t pay Louis’ family much for the hay, but it’s enough that Louis really can’t mess it up.

But. He’s not thinking about that tonight. Tonight he’s focusing on getting shitfaced.

“Everyone needs a little time off,” Louis replies, lifting the pitcher. “I’m over there at the booth with Cara and Kendall and Harry and a friend of his from Chicago. You guys should join us.”

Oli cranes his neck to see. “Cara and Kendall, eh?”

Louis nods beginning to turn back to the bar. “Yeah, I’ll be back over there in a second. I’d love to catch up.”

“Okay, yeah. Maybe,” Calvin says.

Niall takes his time coming over to serve him. A group of well dressed college girls are flirting with him as he opens them a bottle of wine, at least Louis _hopes_ they’re college girls and not high school girls- they seem really young.

When Niall finally stands before Louis, gesturing for the pitcher, he’s grinning.

“Any of those girls interested in staying late, checking out your crib?” Louis asks, watching Niall fill the pitcher up with Bud Light. He knows that’s not Louis preference, the fucker, but if Louis makes a big deal about it then, Niall will probably make him put money down on it right now, instead of adding it onto a tab, so he keeps quiet.

Niall nods. “Maybe. Looks like you’ve got yourself an admirer, as well.”

Louis frowns and follows his gaze back to table. Harry’s engaged in some sort of giggle-smacking to-do with Cara, while Kendall watches on, laughing. Nick, on the other hand, is looking right back at Louis.

“What are you talking about? Cara might have a thing for Harry, but she’s definitely not interested in me. And I’m pretty sure Kendall hates all men.”

Niall sets the full pitcher between them, but he doesn’t let go of it.

“I wasn’t talking about Cara or Kendall.” He raises his brows and Louis’ heart plummets to the pit of his stomach. Niall can’t know about him and Harry; he just can’t.

“I was talking about Harry’s friend, Nick,” Niall clarifies.

Louis stills and meets Niall’s eyes. He’s wrong. Nick came up here because he’s into Harry. He was going to be Harry’s date to the wedding. He’s asked Harry to work on his show. He’s not interested in Louis.

And, like, also. Louis’ not- he doesn’t hook up with guys. Not even tall, funny, dark-haired guys.

“He doesn’t think I’m interested back? Do you think?” Louis asks Niall, eyes returning to the table again, where Nick has rejoined the conversation.

“Bro, your playfulness could be easy to misinterpret. If I were him and interested in guys, I might even think you were being a tease.”

Niall says the words so matter of factly, as if it’s perfectly reasonable to suggest that a Chicago big shot would come to vacation in a small town and just _assume_ that the _male_ local teasing the fuck out of him is also gay and interested in hooking up.

That seems like _quite_ a stretch to Louis.

“You’re seeing shit that isn’t there,” Louis says, putting a hand on the pitcher.

Niall lets his own hands drop to his sides. “Sure, but be careful. Don’t fuck this up for Harry.”

Louis rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, mom,” before heading back to the table.

“Did my boys come over?” Louis asks Harry, sliding into the booth beside him.

Harry tilts his head and frowns. “Your boys?”

Louis nods. “Calliope and O-dog.”

Harry shakes his head and pours Louis a glass of beer. “I’ve never heard of anyone who goes by either of those names. Sorry.”

Nick puts his glass out for Harry to pour and meets Louis’ gaze. _Is_ he being flirtatious? Louis can’t tell. Maybe he’s scoping out the competition.

Not that Louis thinks he’s competition for Nick. Or would appear to an outsider as competition. Unless.

Unless Harry’s told him about their kiss. He wonders, suddenly, if Harry has. If he’s told anyone at all. Fuck. They never talked about keeping it a secret. Louis’d taken for granted that he’d keep it to himself, considering.

But he hadn’t thought about Nick. If he and Harry are something like boyfriends, then it would make sense for Harry to say something about it, for the sake of honesty. And Harry’s a very, _very_ honest person.

Louis is halfway through his new glass of beer when Nick draws him back into the conversation.

“What about you, Louis? Anyone here tonight you trying to take home? I’d bet you’re quite popular with the ladies.” His words are laced with laughter and Louis doesn’t know how to interpret that.

“I’m… I…” he stutters. What’s it he’s been telling his mom recently? Oh yeah. “I’m looking for someone who can keep up with me. No one around here like that.”

“You a quick one, then?” Nick asks. The question is more playful than pointed, with a hint of challenge and Louis’ never been one to back down from one of those.

“Quick with my _tongue,_ ” he clarifies, and then, caught up in the depths of Nick’s gaze, he winks.

“Alright. I think that’s more than enough of that,” Harry says. “I’m getting jealous over here.”

And, _fuck_.

That was _not_ the way to communicate his disinterest in dudes, for one. And for another, this is his best friend’s significant other (or possibly significant other to-be, or something).

“Sorry,” Louis mutters. And then, “I need a cigarette.”

Which is not a lie.

As he’s walking to the door, he sees Oli and Cal again and stops to nudge them with his elbow. “The fuck, guys? You gonna come over and say hi, or what?”

“Why don’t you leave those fags to it and come over here to chill?” Cal asks, elbowing him right back.

“Oh, fuck off. I’m sure Harry’d be happy to see you, too,” Louis insists, trying not to let the slur rub him the wrong way. He _knows_ Cal doesn’t mean anything by it.

“Isn’t he busy with his boyfriend, anyway?” Oli puts in. “He won’t notice if you spend a few minutes with us.”

They’re not _boyfriends_ , Louis wants to shout at him, even though only a minute ago his conscience had been shouting just the opposite.

“Whatever, fuckers,” Louis gives up. “I’m going out for a smoke.”

“We’re probably going to head to Tina’s after this, we’ll see if you’re up for it before we leave?” Cal suggests.

Louis does _really_ want to catch up with them and he should probably let Harry and Nick have some _alone_ time, but bar hopping with these two- already drunk off their asses- really doesn’t sound appealing.

Still, he nods. “Sure.”

The night is warm and the street is quiet. Louis glances down the block, to check out Sailor’s Club which has a popular riverside patio. In the summer, there’s usually a crowd gathered out front, smoking like Louis, but all he sees now are two solitary figures.

Outside Horan’s it’s only him, though he can see the doorman, sitting on a stool just inside.

He takes a deep breath of the fresh air before lighting up.

A few drags in, the door opens and noise pours out.

A voice says, “Got an extra?”

It’s Nick. Louis looks up at him, speculatively. He does have an extra, of course, but he’s not sure whether he wants to share it with Nick or not.

Nick sticks out his lip in the most pathetic attempt at looking pathetic that Louis’ ever seen. He needs to take some lessons from Harry.

Still, Louis relents. Sharing a cigarette is hardly sucking the guy’s dick.

Taking the smoke from Louis, Nick says, “Thanks, man. And thanks for hanging out. I know it means a lot to Harry to have us meet.”

Louis nods. Harry’s only been talking about introducing them for _years_.

“He was right about you,” Nick says, cupping his hand around the end of his cigarette as he lights it.

Louis doesn’t like that. Not that he doesn’t want Harry to be right about him, or for Harry to be talking about him to Nick. Those things are alright. 

What he doesn’t want is for Nick to feel like _he_ knows something about Louis. He doesn’t. He’s only been around him for a day. 

“You’re smart guy,” Nick says. “And funny.”

Louis drops the butt of his cigarette and stubs it out with his toe. Lighting another he says, “Takes one to know one.”

“Glad you think so,” Nick replies. “You’re a handsome guy, too. Harry didn’t tell me that, though.”

Louis straightens his shoulders. He _likes_ being called handsome by Nick, is the thing. The little ripple of pride that shoots through him is undeniable.

But at the same time, he’s also, like, not- he can’t reciprocate.

“Takes one to know one,” Louis says again.

Nick moves in closer. “Yeah?”

Louis nods, looking staunchly forward into the big glass window of the bookstore across the street. His pulse is racing. Like, he wasn’t lying to Niall. He’s not interested in flirting with Nick. But he’s also kind of interested in seeing how far Nick will take this.

For Harry’s sake, he thinks desperately.

Because Harry is interested in Nick and he should know if Nick’s fooling around behind his back.

“Harry says your family owns a farm,” Nick comments, changing the subject so abruptly that Louis does turn to meet his gaze.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “A little ways away from here. It’s where I live and Harry cooks.”

“That’s what he said. I’ve only been to one farm before in my entire life. And that was for picking apples and drinking hot cider and eating doughnuts. My parents would take me and my sister every fall,” Nick says.

Louis cackles. “You pick your own apples? Probably paid more for them that way, too. What a fucking scam. Fucking suburban assholes.”

“Hey, now,” Nick says, eyebrows drawing together.

“I’m just saying that you were being tricked. Like who picks apples for fun? Up here that’s called _work_ ,” Louis explains, shaking his head.

He really does not understand rich people.

“Anyway,” Nick says, drawing out the word in disdain, clearly tiring of the argument. “Do you have animals on your farm? What about barns and silos? Tractors?”

“No animals right now and our tractor is a piece of shit. My grandpa bought it before my mom was born. Like, I have no idea how it’s still running.”

“Can I see it?” Nick asks.

And, _oh_ , Louis suddenly gets it. Nick is asking Louis to take him back to his place. He flushes with the embarrassment of _not getting it_ and, then, of _getting it._

“Maybe Harry can show you?” Louis suggests because he’s a good friend. He’s working hard on not panicking, on not flipping the fuck out at Nick for even presupposing that Louis might be interested in the first place.

“Are you trying to tell me that Harry Styles knows the first thing about _tractors_?”

It’s a stupid thing to say because while, yes, Harry is not a tractor expert by any means, he definitely could show _Nick_ a thing or two about tractors.

Except that the way Nick has said ‘tractors’ makes it clear that he is not talking about actual tractors.

Which makes it an even stupider thing to say because Louis is sure that Harry knows _way_ more about ‘tractors’ than Louis does and that much should be obvious to Nick. Only it isn’t and Louis doesn’t understand why.

No one up here has _ever_ suggested he was gay, except, of course as a joke. It’s like, it’s not a thing for him. Or it hasn’t been, until now.

“Nick,” Louis says taking a deep breath. He can do this civilly. “I’m flattered that you want to see my tractor, buddy. But I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me and, um, my tractor. We’re not really into other people with… tractors.”

Nick bites back a smile and it’s clear he doesn’t believe Louis. He says, “I don’t have a tractor. That’s why I want to see yours.”

“Oh my god!” Louis says, sputtering. That’s _way_ more information than he was asking for. “Are you saying you…?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “No, fuck. Okay, you’re really not interested? I’m just looking for some fun. We don’t even have to tell Harry.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, like... “ He wants to figure out a way to suggest that Harry might be interested without outright saying that Harry might be interested. “Like. Harry...”

He’s too flustered. He finishes his cigarette and fingers another inside his pack.

“It’s fine. No worries. Just a miscommunication,” Nick says, with a sigh. “I get it.”

Louis is not sure that Nick does- hell, he doesn’t know if _he_ gets it- but he’s relieved when Nick turns to head back inside.

Louis watches him go and, as he opens the door to step inside, Cal and Oli walk right through and out onto the street.

Oli says, “Oh! Good, thought maybe you’d left.”

Cal points is his thumb at Nick’s retreating back. “What’d that fucker want? To suck your dick?”

Louis frowns at him, bile rising in the back of his throat. He keeps his cool though, shrugging.

“Can’t believe those pussies can get married. Like, fuck. I was fine with letting them do their own thing, but that’s crossing a line. They should stay in their lane- out in fucking San Francisco or whatever- we’ll stay in ours,” Cal continues.

Louis purses his lips. He’s finishing up the cigarette and he wants to go back inside, but these assholes keep talking.

Oli says, “I don’t know why they can’t just keep it quiet, you know. Like, it’s a free country, but they don’t need to rub it in other people’s faces.”

Louis swallows. “How was that guy- Nick- rubbing it in your face?”

“Don’t tell me his pansy ass wasn’t just out here hitting on you,” Cal says.

And Louis can’t help it. He reaches for the collar of Cal’s shirt. “What the fuck do you know about why he was out here. He was smoking a fucking cigarette, same as me. Fuck off.”

Louis punctuates his outburst with a little shake.  

He’s about to let it go and head back inside, but Cal says, “Awfully defensive, there, Louis. Did you say ‘yes’?”

“What the fuck?” Oli mutters and Louis doesn’t know whose side he’s on.

He shakes Cal again and, with more boldness than he would have thought he’d have in him, he says, “What if I did?”

“Fuck, sorry, man. Let me go. You’re a pussy, but you’re no queer,” Cal says, backpedaling.

Louis’ hold is loosening when he hears a siren blare a couple of times behind him. He drops his hands as the cop car comes to a stop.

Liam jumps out of the front seat and walks toward them, his strides quick and purposeful.

“There’s no problem, Officer Payne. No problem here at all,” Calvin shouts, as he runs backward down the street toward his own car.

“You wouldn’t take our side if there was, anyway,” Oli calls, following in his wake.

And even Louis, hot-tempered as he is, knows that’s toeing the line.

Liam doesn’t go after him, though. Instead, he’s pulling out his phone, typing as he talks, “You’re one lucky bastard cause I doubt I would’ve taken your side either.”

Louis’ still panting and his knuckles tingle, even though he hadn’t used them. _Fuck_. What the fuck was he _thinking_ getting into an argument about that shit.

He looks at Liam. The fucker just had to be patrolling town tonight, didn’t he. _Goddamn_.

“What happened, anyway?” Liam asks.

The barbeque stain from earlier is gone and Louis wonders what kind of magic he’d used to get it out. That stuff has stayed in Louis’ clothes for years before.

Then he realizes, “You changed your shirt.”

“I’m not an animal, Louis,” Liam tells him, folding his arms across his chest. “Unlike you, apparently.”

“Is everything okay? Is Louis hurt?” Harry rushes out of the bar, phone in hand, Nick close at his heels.

“He’s fine. Just got into it with a couple fuckers that I would’ve sworn to _God_ were his friends back in high school,” Liam tells Harry, arms still crossed. “He needs a ride home. Either of you sober enough to take him?”

“I’m sober myself,” Louis lies. He’s not _drunk_ drunk, though, and he does not want to face up to Harry and Nick, not after Nick’s weird proposition and definitely not after that fucking not-quite-a-fight.

“I’m the DD,” Harry says. “It’s probably time for us to call it a night, anyway. Nick and I want to get some work done tomorrow morning before he has to leave.”

Louis nods and reluctantly follows the two of them to the jeep.  No one speaks and, even though the quiet is awkward, it’s fucking fine with Louis, for the moment.

~

Once they’re on the road, Harry says, “I told you they weren’t worth it.”  

“I do distinctly remember you saying that. _In tenth grade._ ” Louis is surprised by his own outburst for the second time that night. He hadn’t wanted to fight with Oli and Cal and he doesn’t really want to fight with Harry now.

Thankfully, Harry only sighs in response. In the rearview mirror, Louis sees that Nick is playing on his phone, at least pretending not to pay attention to them.

“What were you guys fighting about anyway? Your mom?”

Harry’s question brings Louis back eight years, to early high school, when all the boys, especially Harry, used to joke about how hot Louis’ mom was. Louis knew _Harry_ was joking. Not Oli, though; he’d literally leered at her cleavage every chance he got.

Louis hadn’t punched him back then, but it’d been a close thing. He’s better tempered these days, hasn’t gotten into any fist fights or even any drunken shouting matches recently.

“They were just talking shit. I don’t know. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. They didn’t mean anything by it,” Louis admits.

Harry hums.

The rest of the car ride is quiet and Louis is just drifting off to sleep when he hears the crunch of dirt and gravel as Harry pulls into the driveway of the Farmhouse.

Louis opens his door and Harry cuts off the engine. “I was wondering,” Harry begins.

Then, he pauses.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if we could crash here. All the stuff I’ve been working on for Nick’s show is on your table and his sleep stuff is still in the back of the jeep.”

Louis looks at Nick, remembering his proposition from earlier. He doesn’t think the guy would be so bold as to make another move, not with Harry right here.

“Your house is like ten minutes away,” Louis protests, but he doesn’t really care. They can stay over. It’s fine.

“Lou,” Harry pleads. God, he is _great_ at looking pathetic.  

Louis relents. “Fine. But none of the beds are made up. You’ll have to get blankets and sheets and stuff out of the linen closet and it’s all probably dusty or moldy or covered in mouse shit.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, climbing out of the car.

Louis doesn’t really have the energy to play host, so he doesn’t, letting Harry show Nick to wherever the fuck they’re going to sleep.

Louis’ stripping off his shorts, when he hears a knock on the door to his room. It opens before he answers and Harry steps inside.

His eyes move up and down Louis’ naked body, landing finally on Louis’ bare cock.

Louis huffs out a breath and then bends over to dig through a pile of clothes for his pajama bottoms.

“Do you have anything clean I can sleep in?” Harry’s voice is low, rough.

Louis nods to the dresser, as he pulls on his softest cotton pajama pants. “In there.”

Harry chooses an orange Lakers basketball tee-shirt and a pair of grey sweat pants. He’s going to look like high school winters when he crawls into bed and the thought makes Louis’ heart ache a little.

“Where are you guys sleeping?” Louis asks. He’ll need to know tomorrow, to strip the bed and wash the sheets. Or something.

Harry’s standing at the door now, holding the bundle of Louis’ clothes in his arms. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and his limbs move heavily as he reaches for the handle. “I’m taking Lottie’s room and I put Nick in your mom’s big bed, if that’s okay.”

Louis bites his lip. It’s clear, by now, that Harry and Nick are _not_ sleeping together, not yet. Louis feels a little bad for assuming they were. Like, he _knows_ just because two guys are gay doesn’t mean they want to fuck or, like, be boyfriends, or whatever. But the way Harry’d talked about Nick, how excited he’d been for Louis to meet him, how he’d planned on bringing him _as his date_ to a wedding- well, Louis’ not going to beat himself up too much for making the assumption either. 

“Sleep well,” Louis tells him. 

Harry turns all the way around to meet Louis’ eyes and his smile brings out his dimples. “You, too.”

~

Louis wakes up to the smell of bacon. He can’t remember the last time he’d woken up to _breakfast meat_.

In the last few weeks, Harry’s been in the kitchen most mornings making cookies or candy or bread or muffins, but Louis doesn’t think he’s woken up to bacon since his mom and sisters moved out five years ago.

Louis pulls on a tee-shirt and makes his way downstairs.

When he enters the kitchen he sees Nick sitting at the table, hair damp, dressed in Louis’ mom’s old maroon satin robe. Harry’s at the stove, his hair damp too, curling at the ends, and he’s wearing Louis fluffy blue bathrobe.

Skin probably still tingling from the hot water, they’ve got matching pink flushes and the sight sets Louis’ teeth on edge. He wonders, for a moment, whether they might’ve gotten together _together_ in the wee hours of the morning.

He dismisses the thought, though, when Nick looks up to meet his gaze, face lined with exhaustion, and not, as far as Louis can tell, the happy, sated kind.

“Did you sleep okay?” Louis asks.

Nick cracks his back, wincing, and nods. Louis had forgotten that the mattress in his mom’s room is shit. One of the things she’d most anticipated moving in with Dan was his apparently amazing new and comfy _bed._

Harry turns around and grins. He doesn’t look tired, at all. No, he looks cozy and, so incredibly pleased with himself.

“I bought maple bacon, just for you,” he says.

Louis stomach rumbles and they both laugh. Then, Louis says, “I’ve decided I don’t like maple bacon anymore. I’m a vegetarian.”

Harry watches him for a moment, clearly trying to figure whether or not Louis is fucking with him. Finally, he says, “You’ll eat what I cook you.”

Louis can feel his serious demeanor crack and, grinning, he replies, “I will.”

“I’ve walked into an episode of the Bachelor, haven’t I? _Fuck._ ” Nick says and Louis flicks him off. He shakes his head. “I should have known.”

Louis moves to sit down beside him at the table. Spread across it are notes and printouts Harry must’ve made the night before Nick’d arrived and Nick’s pouring over them now with an intensity that Louis wouldn’t have guessed he had in him.

“What’s all this?”

“This is work,” Nick tells him. “Which you probably wouldn’t know anything about.”

Nick smiles as he says it, and Louis doesn’t think he means it as an insult aimed at Louis’ lack of a college education and a steady job, but fuck does it sting.

“Harry’s work,” Louis clarifies, because Nick should not get to take credit for all this shit that Harry’s clearly labored over to the point of tears and sleep deprivation.

“Harold’s very, _very_ good work,” Nick agrees, readily.

Harold is _Louis’_ nickname for Harry, Louis wants to say. But he thinks they might’ve already been a little over-familiar with the bacon back-and-forth. He doesn’t want Nick to figure out that he was right about Louis, that Louis likes guys, likes _Harry._

“If you think that’s good work, wait till you try these pancakes,” Harry tells him setting down a stack of them on the middle of the table. “You can get your own damn place settings and syrup.”

Louis lifts a pancake off the top with his bare hand and raises it to his mouth. It’s piping hot, burning the tips of his fingers, but Harry’s watching him with both his eyebrows raised so he _has_ to eat it.

It good, but it needs syrup.

Once Louis’ finished the last of it, Harry nods and returns to the stove for the bacon.

Louis rises again to pour himself a cup of coffee, and on his way back, grabs plates and forks. “Don’t think we have syrup,” he tells Nick, apologetically.

Except that Harry walks up behind him and sets a glass jar of real maple syrup down right in front of him. “I used it for granola last week,” he explains.

They eat quietly, Nick absorbed in the notes, while Louis watches Harry taking bites of his own pancakes in between washing up the cooking dishes and mixing up something new in a big aluminum bowl.

“What are you guys doing this afternoon?” Louis asks, scraping the last of the syrup off his plate with the side of his fork.

“I’m going home, unfortunately,” Nick says.

He doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s very unfortunate, at all.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

“Same as yesterday morning, baling, baling, baling,” Louis explains with a frown. He should already be out there and so should the rest of his family.

He opens a text to his mom asking when they’re coming over. He’s not sure if he wants her to meet Nick or not. The idea that Nick, aside from Harry, is the only person who’s seen through him, who’s recognized that he’s maybe not only interested in women, unnerves him and he’s not sure he wants him in the same room with his mother.

The wooden spoon Harry’s using clatters against the edge of the bowl. “Well, you’d better get to it, then,” he says.

“I don’t hear you offering to help.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Harry flushes and replies, “I’ll help. Later, as soon as I see Nick off. It’s the least I can do for you guys letting me use your kitchen. Your mom’s refused my offer to pay rent, you know.”

“I’ll take your rent money,” Louis tells him, standing.

“You want my help baling hay or my rent money?” Harry shoots back.

Louis shakes his head and puts his plate in the sink. He squeezes Harry’s shoulder and says, “You don’t need to give me either,” before heading out the back door.

~

The hay’s still dry, when Louis goes to check it, thank god. The dew hadn’t been too heavy that morning.

The tractor starts right up for him, too, which is also not a given, and he thinks he might have an alright day after all.

Harry comes out and finds Louis a few hours later, just as he’s pulling into the barn to switch the baler out for the trailer.

“Nick said to say goodbye. He also said to give him a call if you ever ‘change your mind.’ He wouldn’t tell me what the fuck he was talking about, though. What the hell did he mean by that?” Harry asks, hoisting himself up onto the tractor beside Louis.

Louis thinks about his and Nick’s conversation about ‘tractors’ the night before and sighs. “Not sure,” he lies.

Harry keeps staring at Louis, though, and, with the sun bright on his face, the intensity is blinding. Louis looks away.

“So did you mean it? Are you gonna help out here? Mom’s bringing Dan and the girls over to load up the bales and move them into the barn.  They should be here any minute. We’ve got to get it all done tonight because it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”

Harry bites his lip. “ _My_ mom gave me a call just a few minutes ago. She misses me. She was like, ‘You come home for the summer and then you spend all your time away!’”

“Tell her she can come over here and help, too, if she wants,” Louis suggests. He means it as a joke, but he knows that if they really needed more help, she would be on her way before they’d finished asking.

“I’ll stay,” Harry says. “I mean, I know Dan’s not gonna be useful,” he adds as explanation.

~

Harry’s right about Dan sucking ass at baling hay. The dickhead spends an inordinate amount of time arranging the bales in barn and very little doing any of the actual lifting.

Harry and Daisy do the bulk of it, while Louis drives the tractor and his mom supervises.

With a little effort, Harry manages to pull Phoebe into the process. Louis has never known any Tomlinson to back down from a challenge and Harry finds a way to insinuate that she’s lazy, very _, very_ flirtatiously.

Louis’ family leaves when the sun sets, which is late, after nine, but there’s still another trailer load left to bring in before it rains and he and Harry wear headlamps for the last hour or so of the work.

They’re sitting, passing a water bottle between them (and not the beer that Louis’ craving), with their backs against the last bale of hay.  Louis’ arms are itchy as hell and Harry’s eyes are drooping, already heavy with sleep.

“You can stay here again, if you want,” Louis offers.

Harry’s eyes blink open, wide. “You know what we should do?”

“Shower and then sleep?” Louis asks because this is absolutely what they should do.

“We should camp out in the hayloft, make a fort of blankets and sleeping bags, just like we used to during baling season when we were kids, remember?”

Years ago, back when Harry’d only been in middle school, the first time he’d helped the Tomlinson’s bale hay, they’d made an occasion of it, sleeping outside so that they’d rise with the sun and be able to start right back up again at dawn.

They’re done, now, though. No reason to be up early, but Harry’s looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes and Louis can’t deny that spending another night cuddled up to Harry sounds very, _very_ appealing.

No one would know, either. The barn is much more private than the bed of Louis’ truck had been out on the street like that.

Anticipation blossoms in Louis’ stomach. He doesn’t feel nearly as tired or as itchy as he had moments ago.

“Okay,” he agrees. “But I heard that it was supposed to get pretty chilly.”

Harry winks at him. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Louis swallows. “I- well. I-” He can’t find words to respond. Usually he’s quick with a comeback, but his body is sore all over and Harry’s grinning at him and all Louis can think about is cuddling up to Harry’s warmth under the same pile of old raggedy quilts and knit blankets they used to use as boys.

“Let’s go get what we need,” Harry says, his laughter leading them out of the barn.

Gathering enough blankets and pillows takes them a couple of trips. Louis climbs up the ladder with one last sleeping bag- an old one of his mom’s, stuffing leaking out its end- to find Harry arranging a makeshift bed in the corner of the loft.

As kids, they’d made two separate beds, Louis allowing Harry the choice spot against the wall, far from the unrailed edge. Tonight, Harry’s putting all the pillows and blankets right up next to each other.

As Louis watches Harry lay a red and white quilt on top of the pile and fluff up the pillows, he swallows. Harry’s created them a fucking love nest.

He thought he’d been clear about his boundaries. He shouldn’t do this with Harry and Harry knows that.

And yet, Louis wants to- _he wants to sleep with Harry-_ and so he doesn’t protest. Instead, he clears his throat, to catch Harry’s attention. Harry looks up at him. Louis’ electric lantern casts his face in an unnatural shade of white.

“Hey,” Harry says. “I can separate this all out, if you want, but I thought it’d be more comfortable this way.”

“I um- I-” Words continue to fail Louis. He’d usually say something witty about how presumptuous Harry is being or perhaps throw out a sexy, joking come-on. But he doesn’t do either. He doesn’t say anything at all.  

After a long moment, Harry sighs, lays out on top of the blankets, and opens his arms. “Come here,” he says.

And that’s it. That’s the end of the pretense that there’s anything remotely platonic about this little sleepover because Louis finds himself moving forward and eagerly accepting Harry’s embrace.

He pulls the sleeping bag up over them and settles against Harry’s chest. With each breath, Harry’s chest lifts Louis’ head a fraction of an inch. Louis marvels that he’s breathing so evenly; Louis’ own pulse is erratic. He feels more awake than he’s been all day.

Into Louis’ hair, Harry says, “How did you like Nick?”

The question surprises Louis. He hasn’t really thought about Nick since this morning. Now, he’s remembering last night, their shared smoke, Nick’s assumptions about him, and the shouting match with Cal and Oli afterward.

Harry must feel him stiffen because he says, “You didn’t like him, did you?” His voice is low and rough and Louis thinks he might be disappointed.

“I liked him,” Louis protests, even though he didn’t really _like_ him. “There was nothing wrong with him. He seemed like a nice enough guy.”

“You gave him a hard time, though,” Harry says.

“I only do that to people that I like. I thought _you_ were the resident Louis Tomlinson expert,” Louis teases.

“I am,” Harry says. “And I don’t think you liked him.”

Louis drums his fingers against Harry’s side. “You guys aren’t dating?”

Harry relaxes against him and laughs. “No. I mean. We came close. Maybe I told you that at the beginning of the summer. But, I don’t know; I just don’t like him like that, I don’t think. I wanted to, you know? He’s a really great guy and he liked me, I think.” After a long pause, Harry adds, “I told him last week that I was interested in someone else.”

Harry’s words are slow, dripping out of this mouth, not one after another but with lengthy pauses in between. Louis’ always been amazed at how long it takes for him to say anything, but he sort of likes it. Harry slows Louis down and that’s always been something he’s needed.

“You’re interested in someone else?” Louis asks.

“You, duh,” Harry says, immediately, as if it’s obvious and unimportant.

“I thought we talked about this,” Louis says, tensing against him.

“We did,” Harry agrees and squeezes his shoulder. He takes his time in adding, “Doesn’t mean I’m not interested. You can’t really help you’re attracted to.”

Louis shifts against him. Their legs are tangled, he realizes. “No, I guess not.”

“Why did you ask about me and Nick?” Harry’s words fall on Louis even more heavily than usual.

Louis takes a deep breath and then answers honestly, “He asked me if I wanted to hook-up, last night, outside the bar.”

“What?” Harry sounds stunned.

“I know. I was really surprised,” Louis replies. “Niall saw it, though. He was up in my face warning me that Nick was into me, saying I shouldn’t fuck things up for you.”

“Does Niall even know that you’re interested in men?” Harry’s hand has begun to stroke Louis’ back, long, heavy, possessive presses of his palm along Louis’ spine.

“No,” Louis replies. “Niall doesn’t know, but Nick did. Did you tell him about what had happened between us or something?”

“Oh my god. No. Louis I would never tell anyone without asking you first. I mean, I’d probably never tell anyone, at all. Especially knowing how anxious you are about your family finding out. I’d never, _ever_ do that. No.”

Harry’s rambling sounds as panicked as Louis’ ever heard it and so he nods against Harry’s chest. “I believe you.”

They’re quiet for a while, their breathing not nearly loud enough to fill up the mostly empty barn, but Harry’s tense beneath him and Louis knows that Harry’s as awake as Louis feels himself.

Then, Harry says, “What did you say to him, when he asked?”

Louis huffs. “You mean Nick? I turned him down.”

“Were you tempted?” Harry presses.

Louis thinks about it. Mostly, he’d been panicked, running through his actions, trying to remember if anything he’d done would have given even the smallest hint to someone that he was interested in dick.

But underneath the panic, he remembers a little flicker of curiosity. “Maybe,” he admits.

“Really?” Harry’s hand stops moving and his fingers dig into the flesh of Louis’ back. “You thought about hooking up with him?”

“No.” He doesn’t want Harry to think that. “I just, I thought, what would happen, you know? I’ve never done _anything_ with another guy before.”

“You’ve kissed me,” Harry supplies.

“I think he was offering a little more than that,” Louis laughs.

Harry’s hand slides down to cover Louis’ ass. “So am I.”

Louis swallows. “Yeah, I know.”

“But you were tempted with Nick, but not with me.” Louis can’t see Harry’s face, but he can imagine the little line between his brows and the slight pout of his lips.

“No, you dick. I was _way_ more tempted with you. I kissed you, didn’t I?” Louis says, his voice pitching up with irritation.

Harry sighs and squeezes Louis’ ass. “Yeah. Once.”

Louis licks his lips. Harry sounds _so_ put out. He could, like…

Louis tilts his head back and meets Harry’s lips. Harry groans into his mouth.

It’s a wet kiss, and deep, better than anything they’d shared that night under the stars, mostly because this time Louis’ sober, cataloguing every sensation coherently. By the time Harry pulls away, Louis’ dick is hard against Harry’s thigh.

Through several gasping breaths, Harry says, “I want more than a few kisses, Louis.” His grip tightens and Louis can feel nails sink through the thin fabric of his cotton pajama pants and into the skin of his cheek.

He nods against Harry’s neck. He wants more, too.

“Can I get you off?” Harry asks. “It doesn’t have to be any more than that. And we can keep it a secret. I just- I really want to get you off.”

Louis nods again and slips his fingers up underneath the cotton of Harry’s tee shirt. “Please,” he whispers.

Nick had suggested the night before that Harry might not be that experienced or talented. He’d thought Harry wouldn’t know his way around a ‘tractor’, but, it seemed, he was very, _very_ wrong.

Harry’s hand is a little cool when it first wraps around Louis’ dick, but it only takes a moment- a few firm strokes- for him to warm it up.

When Harry’s thumb lifts to brush his tip, Louis makes a noise, a little keen, and embarrassed, he tries to muffle himself, lips pressing wetly into the hot crook of Harry’s neck.

“How do you like it?” Harry asks, keeping his strokes light- teasingly light- and even.

“I thought you knew everything about me,” Louis says, and his breath hitches on the second to last word as Harry lifts his thumb to rub over the top of Louis’ dick a second time.

“Not this. I don’t know this, but I’ve always been curious. I have a few guesses.” Harry’s voice is surprisingly deep now, and rough as sand.

“You imagined this before?” Louis asks. “What did you guess?”

Harry blows out a breath and then stops stroking him to reach down and toy with his balls. “I guessed that you like to be teased a little.”

The thing is, Eleanor and Hannah hadn’t been big on handjobs, too messy for their tastes and too tiring for their arms, so Louis only knows what he likes when he masturbates, and it’s not teasing. He likes it _fast and rough._

But _fuck_ if Harry’s fingers on his balls isn’t nearly the very best feeling he’s ever felt.

Still, he’s not going to let Harry off the hook that easy. “No,” he says. “Wrong.”

“I’m not talking about what gets you off.” Harry takes a breath before continuing. “I’m talking about what you _like_. Are you trying to tell me you don’t like this?”

He can’t say that, no. But he can say, “What gets me off then?”

“Uh, uh,” Harry chimes. “Not time for that yet.” He recaptures Louis’ lips in a kiss.

Louis, not having the patience for these kinds of games, lets his own hand loose to explore the solid planes of Harry’s body. The last time they’d lain like this, he’d been too drunk to learn the feel of the soft pudge at Harry’s hips or the firm flesh around his nipples.

He certainly hadn’t been bold enough, even sloshed, to allow his fingers to dip lower, underneath the waistband of Harry’s pants and into his boxers. That he’d been able to feel the length of Harry’s cock through the many layers of fabric between them had seemed wild in and of itself.

Now, though, his fingers do drift down, do wrap around Harry’s hot, naked cock, mapping the length and breadth of it.

Harry gasps when Louis mimics _his_ earlier journey and then lets his palm travel farther still to cup Harry’s balls. Harry’s grip on Louis’ cock loosens and, in the lantern light, Louis can see that his jaw has gone slack.

Quietly, Louis whispers, “So being teased gets _you_ off. I see how it is.” He lets his fingers slide playfully along Harry’s inner thigh and then back, behind his balls, to rub at the sensitive skin that leads to his hole.

“Louis,” Harry whimpers.

Louis brings his fingers back to wrap around Harry’s length and he can feel the vein that runs along the front of it throbbing. He sets his strokes to match its even pace.

“Fuck,” Harry squeezes Louis’ ass. It’s a little painful, but Louis finds that he likes the bite of it, likes that he’s so good at stroking Harry’s cock- something he’s _never done before_ \- that Harry’s lost control with him- _with Louis_ \- in his arms.

 _Harry’s gonna come. Louis’ fingers are gonna make Harry come_. It’s such a powerful thought, welling up in him and bursting forth, “ _Fuck,_ Harry, come. Come on. Come on me.”

Harry hisses and does just as Louis asks, spilling over Louis’ fingers and the inside of his boxers.

Harry’s eyes are closed and he’s panting, hard. Louis watches the rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t want the moment to be over. He wants to do it again- to push Harry over the edge again and again. He’s reluctant to let go of Harry’s dick, even though it’s softening in his fist, without the promise of a next time.  

Harry hasn’t moved, his breathing hasn’t changed, and his eyes haven’t opened when _his_ hand begins to move again on Louis’ dick.

His touch surprises a groan out of Louis. “Harry. You don’t-”

“I said I wanted to get you off. Not the other way around, you asshole.” Harry’s voice is thick and Louis thinks that it’s a little petty of him to be irritable about this. Dangerous, too, with Louis’ fingers so close to his balls. He reaches down about to sque-

Harry picks up speed, stripping Louis’ dick with only his thumb and forefinger and it’s good. It’s better than good- it’s exactly how Louis does to himself, but, like, it’s not his own hand. It’s Harry’s. 

And Harry’s whole body is hot beside him. Harry’s come has Louis’ fingers sticking together. And when Louis breathes, trying to slow everything down, the scent of Harry’s sweat and shampoo overpowers the dusty scent of the hay all around them.

His orgasm hits him hard and all at once. The world stops moving and for one long second he feels fully in his body- heavy and present and alive from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes- and then it picks up again, everything around him, Harry’s smile, the walls of the barn, and the warm blankets beneath him, a whirlwind.

When it’s over and Louis’ vision is settling again, Harry runs a hand through Louis’ hair and murmurs,  “You’re really fucking _bold_ for a beginner.”

Louis grins to himself, snuggling closer. “That had better not be a complaint."

Harry pushes out a laugh. “Definitely not.”

Then, Harry asks, “You’ve really never done that before?”

Louis presses his nose into Harry’s throat. “To myself, I have.”

“Haven’t you wanted to? Haven’t other guys asked?”

Louis shakes his head because they haven’t, not counting Nick or Harry. “I have wanted to. I mean, I always wondered, especially with you.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ ass. “Wondered about anything else?”

Louis knows what Harry’s asking, of course. But that’s not where his mind wanders. Because, yes, he’s wondered about butt stuff. Fucking Eleanor from behind had been better than alright and he thinks, like, _actual_ in-the-ass stuff with Harry might even be better. But, even more, he’s wondered about going on dates with Harry and taking care of the farm together and whether or not it would be difficult for them to adopt a couple of kids.

The thing is, when Louis dreams about being with Harry, he doesn’t do it half-way.

So he remains quiet, and Harry sighs. “I’m not trying to pressure you. I was just curious. Like.”

Louis humps his leg gently. “You always were a little sex fiend, weren’t you?”

“Ass play is so underrated. It’s so sensitive down there and I love feeling filled-up, you know? Well, I guess you wouldn’t know. But you should. Like,” Harry pauses and then adds, “Yeah.”

Louis does not like imagining other dudes with their dicks up Harry’s ass. Hell, that’s one of the reasons he’d been so hostile to Harry’s ex.

But he does find the idea of fucking Harry himself very appealing and as he reaches over Harry’s body to turn off the lantern and places a wet kiss on Harry’s ear, he can admit that it actually might happen, even if the rest of his hopes and dreams for them are impossible.

~

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: an ugly little scene at a bar that includes transphobia, homophobic and misogynistics slurs, and an almost fight. Later there’s handjobs and dry humping… oh and also a hint of tomlinshaw???????????????????


	5. August 2015 Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, does this get cheesy and smutty. I'm warning you all now. :)
> 
> More specific spoilery warnings in the endnotes!

 

The counter is wet and Louis hopes that it’s water seeping through the fabric of his jeans and not something stickier, like the honey he’d stuck his forearm into last week. It’s a fleeting hope, however, because he’s immediately distracted from it by Harry’s teeth, which have attached themselves to the side of his neck.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the sting shooting down his body and heading straight for his dick. Harry’s hand comes between them and grips him, hard.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs. “You’re so-” He finishes the statement with a groan.

Louis has been begging Harry to slow down and _pay attention_ to him all morning. They haven’t had a chance to get each other off or even to make out in days- _three days,_ not that Louis is counting.

It’s been surprisingly easy, kissing Harry instead of punching his shoulder and moving in to wrap his arms around Harry from behind when before he would have kept his distance. He’s always, _always_ wanted to touch Harry more, wanted to hold him close and tell him sweet (probably _overly_ sweet) things.

However, it’s been surprisingly difficult to find periods of time _alone_ with Harry to do these things. Louis thinks they could have been alone together all the fucking time earlier in the summer, could’ve spent every evening alone together, had they wanted.

But they hadn’t wanted, or Louis hadn’t, anyway, and now that he does suddenly they’re both too busy.

Harry’s cousins are in from out of town and Louis’ been running most of Robin’s projects for him while he entertains. Meanwhile, Harry’s been cooking and baking non-stop for his business and his family. Louis’ caught him in the kitchen at the Farmhouse a couple of times, managing only to sneak in a peck on the lips or a smack to the ass before one of them heads out.

So when Harry’d jumped into bed with Louis this morning, singing, “You are my sunshine,” Louis’d thought they’d finally caught a break.

He’d heard from Robin that Harry’s extended family was around for another week or so, a few more folks from out of state joining the gathering this weekend. He wasn’t going to bring that up, though, not when Harry was sliding in between Louis’ sheets and curling up close, rubbing the scent of his cologne all over Louis’ pillow.

Except that instead of leaning his face in for a kiss or reaching down for playful grope, Harry’s finger had traced a teasing line across Louis’ chest and then dived, with terrible accuracy, for exactly the two spots on his sides, just below his ribs, where he is the most ticklish.

Louis’d rolled away from him and out of the bed, pulling the sheet up with him and sending Harry sprawling to the ground on the other side of the mattress, whacking his elbow against Louis’ bedside table.

Served him fucking right, Louis’d thought at first, and then, at Harry’s pained moan, he’d frowned and fallen back across the mattress to look down at him and say, “Sorry.”

From the ground, Harry’d rubbed at his stubbed funny bone and muttered with a pointed glare, “Funny bone, eh? Real fucking funny. Ha ha ha. _”_

Then, he’d gotten to the point: he wasn’t here to fuck around. They needed to get ready. For the annual summer camping trip. Which they were leaving for. That afternoon.

Yes, Louis’d had it on his calendar for the last two months and, yes, Louis’ gotten text reminders from Harry and Niall every day for the last week, but, _hell_ , he’s had a lot on his mind recently.

So they’ve spent most of the morning packing up because, of course, when Niall had made the original plans back in May, Louis’d agreed to bring the bulk of the camping equipment and Harry’d agreed to bring the bulk of the food.

But now, fucking _now_ , Harry’s jeep is loaded up with the tents and the sleeping bags and firewood and whatever the fuck Harry’s put into the cooler, and they _finally_ have a moment to themselves.

Harry’s hoisted Louis up onto the counter and is standing between his legs, grinding against his stomach and biting at his neck.

“People are going to be able to see that, Harry,” Louis tells him, his words breathy.

Harry lifts his head and grins. “I know.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I’m not telling them it was you,” Louis says, each word marked by a little gasp, as Harry bites at him again, more gently this time.

Harry hums, his fingers squeezing Louis’ hip.

This makes him a little nervous, how kinky Harry is. Harry’s always, like, _known things_ about sex, ever since they were kids. Years younger than the rest of the One Direction boys, Harry’d still been the one to tell them that people actually enjoyed _eating ass,_ that it was sometimes referred to as “tossing salad.” And through hysterical laughter, he’d let them know what “Simba” meant and “chode” and “felch” and “glory hole” all kinds of dirty (mostly gay) sex stuff.

So Louis is curious about his expectations for their, like, sex-life. Does he expect Louis to want to do all that shit with him? Not that Louis is opposed, just. He’s never even had a dick in his mouth, let alone let someone come all over his face. And he’s never touched an asshole, like, sexually, let alone licked one.

Hickeys, alright. Hickeys, he can do.

But he might need to warm up to the other stuff and he’s not sure how to communicate that to Harry, especially if all their _encounters_ are going to be rushed and on the sly.

Harry is lifting off his neck and leaning closer for another kiss when someone starts pounding on the door to the kitchen.

Louis’ eyes fly to it over Harry’s shoulder and he breathes out in relief. Thank _fuck_ Harry’s recently washed and rehung the little curtain over the window.

Harry steps back and wipes the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger, eyes not leaving Louis’ face. “Your hair’s all fucked up,” he whispers.

Louis runs a hand through it. He doesn’t know how that would have happened; Harry’s hands had been around his waist. He adjusts his brand new jeans, which are now unbearably tight. He doesn’t know why the fuck he thought to buy the damn skinny things in the first place.

(Probably because of the odes to his ass Harry’s been texting him every night.)

(Which, speaking of kinky, Harry seems to be into dirty talk. And sexting. Both of which Louis is totally down with, even if he kind of sucks at them. Harry’s a fucking champ and Louis’ a willing student.)

Harry’s lips are still wet, though, and his hair is _really_ fucked up. Louis has not had a chance to get the words out to tell him, when he opens the door to find Liam, relaxed and smiling and wifeless and childless in sweats and a backward baseball cap. It’s the most comfortable he’s looked in months.

Louis, who’s taken the opportunity to hop down from the counter and adjust his pants yet again, feels anything but comfortable.

“You’ve already gotten Louis all packed?!” Liam says to Harry, gesturing out the door and toward the jeep.

When Harry nods, Liam raises his eyebrows at Louis.

Louis flicks him off. He can pack his own damn self, thank you very much.

“Harry does make you a great housewife, doesn’t he?” Liam asks, but then he freezes and looks at Harry. “That was rude. Sorry. That was really rude. You make a great house person. Which is something Louis needs, obviously, since his mother doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Still fucking rude,” Louis says, punching him in the stomach a little harder than is friendly, as he walks to the door.

“No, I meant that was less rude to Harry,” Liam gasps. And then, “I think. That was better, right?”

“I think I’d make a _great_ housewife,” Harry says following them out the door and then turning around to lock it. “And I’m happy to be that for Louis. You’re absolutely right, Liam. He is a little lost without his mom around.”

“Fuck off,” Louis shouts, climbing into the front seat of Harry’s jeep.  

Harry climbs into the driver’s seat. “It’s okay, Louis. I like domestic stuff.”

“You and Soph make quite a pair,” Liam muses from the back.

They sit quietly for a moment. Louis checks his phone. It’s not like Niall to be late, but all he sees are a series of messages from his mom about the boat needing to be taken in and gassed up. Well, too fucking bad. He’s booked this weekend off for his friends.

“Oh!” Liam says, suddenly. “You’re waiting for Niall! He’s meeting us there. We’ve got to leave early tonight, so he drove separately.”

Harry turns all the way around, jaw dropping. “What?! Liam, I’m so disappointed in you. I thought we were _bros._ ”

Then, he whirls back around and sticks the key in the ignition. Over the revving engine, he says, “This time is sacred. How dare you make other plans. Louis’ even _on time_. Bro.”

“Thank you, Harold,” Louis says, nodding to him. Then, he turns to face Liam. “And I agree, Liam. You spend all your time with that witch of a wife- don’t tell her I called her that, she’s a beautiful woman- but you spend all your time with her or running stop signs in your goddamn cop car, ignoring your dear childhood friends. Don’t you have any sense of loyalty, Liam? My god. You’re hurting our feelings.”

He takes a breath, and then, mimicking Harry adds, “Bro.”  

Liam’s face goes slack and serious and Louis turns around to hide his grin, thoroughly satisfied.

Harry sticks out his fist for a bump. They’re the fucking _dream team_.

“I hate you both. But I promised my wife every Saturday night I wasn’t working would be for her and Dale. Now, if we’d planned this on a Friday or literally _any other night,_ ” Liam explains.

“I don’t want to hear it, Officer,” Louis replies, cutting him off.

“I have responsibilities, now,” Liam whines. He’s learning bad habits from Dale.

“Responsibilities to us,” Harry shoots back.

“Oh, fuck off,” Liam groans, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You, fuck off,” Harry and Louis say, at the exact same time.

Louis raises a brow and this time he’s the one that puts his fist up for Harry to bump.

“Dream team’s still got it,” Harry announces, dimples huge and deep.

And they do, they really, _really_ do.

~

Louis is leaning against the jeep finishing a cigarette while the others unload when Niall comes at him with his finger pointed, jabbing at the bruise on Louis’ neck. “The fuck, man?”

Louis smacks Niall’s finger away. No use pretending it’s not a hickey, best to deflect. “Jealous? Haven’t gotten laid recently, have you?”

“Fuck off. Who’s it from? Cause I know you and Eleanor are not hooking up again.”

Louis narrows his eyes and considers shooting back a ‘ _your mom_.’

“Let’s get down to the beach, boys. This beer isn’t going to drink itself.” Liam shouts, already heading down the path that leads from the road to the lake, carrying several beach chairs. Harry’s following close behind him, a cooler in each hand, muscles bulging in his arms.

 _Fuck_ , but he looks _good._  

Louis starts to follow, but Niall doesn’t let him off that easily. “Come on, man. I’d tell you if I was getting some.”

“That’s not very gentlemenly of you, bro,” Louis shoots back, hoping it’ll shut him up. They’re walking down the wooded path now, but they’ve waited long enough that Liam and Harry have disappeared ahead of them.

“I’m going to figure this out. I bet you a hundred bucks I can guess,” Niall presses, huffing a little as he races to keep up with Louis.

Louis doesn’t need Niall snooping about his love life, but he could use the money, and the likelihood that Niall will guess that him and Harry are fucking around seems close to nil, so he agrees. “You’re on.”

~

When they’ve settled in- finished a couple beers a piece, run in and out of Pine Lake a few times, and played a round of football in the sand- Niall pulls out his guitar.

“I’ve written a new song,” he announces. He looks at Harry, and says, “It’s for Zayn.”

“Better be called, ‘Get Your Loser Ass Home, You Fucker,’” Louis tells him, dropping into one of Liam’s chairs. It’s only about an inch off the ground, but it has a beer holder in the arm.

Niall laughs. “Kind of. Maybe. I think I’m gonna call it, ‘Don’t Forget Where You Belong.’ Now that he’s got this new model girlfriend, I don’t know if he’ll ever come back.”

Ah. Gigi. No one’s told him that’s a lie yet, then. Louis’ not gonna be the one to do it. Instead, he says, “Fuck. That’s sweet. Why are you so sweet? Stop.” Louis throws him another beer. Drunk Niall is horny not sweet.

“It’s just having the rest of us back here all at once makes me miss him, you know,” Niall explains.

Louis knows what he means. He and Niall haven’t really left Lake County, but Liam spent the four years after high school in the service, coming home for good just months before Zayn fucked off to LA. And Harry’s been in Chicago for six long fucking years.

It’s different, special, to have everyone here for the summer. But something’s definitely missing and that something is Zayn.

Harry digs out a beer and opens it. “Let’s pour one out for him, as Niall plays.”

“He’s not dead,” Liam says, grabbing the drink out of Harry’s hands. “Jesus, Harry.”

“Might as well be,” Louis mutters.

Liam stands.  “Don’t _fucking_ say that.” His face is red and his eyebrows furrowed. “He’s not dead. Thank fucking god. Unlike Danny and Bob, you dick.”

Louis swallows and looks at the lake. Some of the guys they’ve grown up with _have_ died, is the thing, a couple of them with Liam over in Afghanistan and couple of them with drugs. Like, Louis _knows_ this and it sucks for him, too.

But, also, that’s what makes Zayn’s disappearance such a goddamn betrayal.

“Why don’t we pour one out for them, then,” Harry suggests, gesturing toward the can that Liam’s clutching to his chest.

“You guys want to hear my song, or what?” Niall asks. He sounds mildly offended that they’ve forgotten the whole point of the conversation.

Liam glares at Harry and takes a swig of the beer. Slowly, he sits back down. “Fine. Go ahead, Niall.”

It’s _is_ a sweet song.

As Niall sings, Louis pulls out his phone. Signal is pretty shitty out here, but he texts Zayn nonetheless.

_ur an asshole_

He thinks Zayn will probably be able to translate the words, to figure out that what Louis really means is, _I miss you_

When Niall’s finishes, Harry says, “You’re good, man.”

Louis has to agree. Niall does not belong in a barband. Or rather, Niall does not belong _only_ in a barband. “You could’ve made it big as a pop star. The next Justin Bieber.”

“You think?” Niall asks, tucking his guitar closer to his chest. “I think I’d rather be part of boyband than on my own like Justin.”

“We’d have made a kick-ass boyband,” Liam says. “Should’ve tried out for America’s Got Talent or something.”

“We still could,” Harry suggests.

“Not without Zayn.” Louis downs the rest of his beer. “But, like, how were we really gonna be a boyband? We don’t have matching outfits. We’re getting way too old. And, most importantly, we can’t dance, or at least Harry can’t.”

“Hey.” Harry’s sitting beside Louis in the sand and he steps on Louis foot with his heel.

“Ouch. Fuck,” Louis says, reaching down to rub the top of his toes. “You’re a great dancer, babe. I take it back.”

“Babe?” Niall says. “How would your secret girlfriend appreciate you talking to someone else like that?”

“Louis has a secret girlfriend?” Liam sounds surprised. Like, insultingly surprised.

“Niall, you know that his ‘secret girlfriend’ is just some shit his mom’s made up to make herself feel better. I practically live with him. I would know if he had a secret girlfriend,” Harry says.

Harry clearly has not thought this response through because Louis anticipates Niall’s reply before he says it.

“Well, if you’re keeping such a good eye on him, do you know who gave him that hickey on his neck?”

Liam turns in his chair to inspect Louis’ neck. Louis does not hide it. He’s a grown man. He can deal with his friends knowing he has a hickey.

He does, however, take another pull of his beer.

“He could’ve gotten that mark on the job?” Liam suggests.

“What kind of work do you think he does?” Harry asks, giggling. Louis glances at him and has to fight the urge to run a hand through his curls.

“I just mean... maybe something fell on him...?” Liam trails off and then at Louis’ glare adds, “It could happen.”

“You think that’s more likely than me having a secret girlfriend?” Louis asks, now genuinely offended. He’s a careful workman and he could totally have a secret girlfriend if he wanted.

Just, for now he wants a secret boyfriend, or a boy who secretly kisses him. Or whatever Harry is. So.

“If we were in a boyband, all our girlfriends would have to be secret. I read about it an ‘NSYNC biography,” Harry says.

“You read an ‘NSYN-” Louis doesn’t finish his question because Harry cuts him off with a glare. Louis shakes his head. Of fucking course, he’s read an ‘NSYNC biography, why wouldn’t he have?

“Oh my god, you’d have to be in the closet, wouldn’t you?” Liam asks Harry, musingly.

“And Will, too,” Harry adds. “Not much different than we are up here.”

“Yeah, fuck. It would suck to be gay. I’d never wish that on anyone. Not in a million years,” Niall says. He strums a few sad chords on his guitar.

Louis sets his jaw and he holds back the protest that rises up in the back of his throat because he doesn’t understand it.

Harry says, “I dunno. It’s not so bad. Like, dudes are _way_ easier to read than chicks. Someone can be your lover _and_ your best friend. It’s really special.”

And, yeah, that sounds right. It really _isn’t_ so bad. Actually- he meets Harry’s smiling eyes- it’s pretty good.

“I’m best friends with Soph,” Liam says, digging his foot into the sand.

“Yeah, but not like me and Harry are best friends,” Louis tells him and then freezes.

Fuck. He’s going to spill the beans and lose the bet to Niall all on his own. He’s such an _idiot._

“I guess it would be pretty awesome to fall in love with one of you fuckers,” Niall agrees. “Not as good as a supermodel, but good.”

This is not a line of thought Louis wants them to get stuck on, so he asks, “Who’s up for setting off some bottle rockets?”  

“Me!” Harry levers himself up using the side of Louis’ chair, inadvertently tipping it over and sending Louis sprawling. “Fuck, sorry.”

He holds a hand out for Louis to grab.

They spend then next forty-five minutes or so, burning the tips of their fingers and covering their ears and heads, as they send screeching rocket after screeching rocket launching up into the air to streak across the sky over the lake.

~

It’s not dark when they build the fire, but as Harry’s planned for them to have some sort of ‘Hippy Stew’ bullshit (and not the sandwiches Louis’d suggested), they need it to cook.

Liam nominates himself to be in charge because apparently the army turned him into some sort of fire-making expert (as if all four of them haven’t been able to make fires since fucking elementary school) and Niall helps Harry fill the little squares of tin foil with veggies and potatoes and meat.

Despite his reputation, Louis likes to make himself useful, especially when there’s no to bother.

(Louis’d stopped teasing Liam about his fire-making abilities two summers back. Several hours of his taunting had pushed a slightly tipsy Liam over the edge. Freshly released as a civilian, nerves raw, he’d stuck Louis in the side with the end of a hot poker stick, leaving a scar on his ribs to this day. Louis hasn’t made the same mistake since. Liam, it turns out, has a temper.)

Louis reaches into the front pocket of Harry’s shorts, giving the top of his thigh a pinch before lifting the keys to his jeep.

“Gonna go grab another case of beer,” he tells the others.

When finally they dig into the small feast, Louis has to admit that Harry’s tin foil creation is delicious, despite the veggies. And, Louis realizes looking around at the others, that Harry’s left the celery out of his, which is _great_ because he fucking hates celery.

Between bites, he reaches into the cooler by his side and grabs a cold one. He holds it out to Niall.

“No, man. I gotta head out soon. I got a text from Greg an hour or so ago. Lara’s gone into surgery.” He drums his fingers against the plastic chair and takes another bite of potato.

“Surgery?” Louis asks. “What the hell?”

If his sister-in-law was in surgery, he’d be freaking the fuck out. What is _wrong_ with Niall.

“Yeah, emergency C-section. I’m about to be an uncle.” He tilts his head back and grins at the sky.

“How is Lara doing? Is she okay? An emergency C-section, that can’t be good.” Harry’s speaking very quickly and beginning to fold up his food. “Is there something we can do? Should we go to the hospital with you? Do you think she’ll make it?”

By the time he’s finished speaking, he’s on his feet. He glances around at the others expectantly.

“Chill, bro,” Niall says, kicking him in the shin. Then, he says, “Remember that time Mrs. Trevor convinced you she was going into labor in math class your senior year. Jesus Christ, you’re a freak about this shit.”

“It’s a very dangerous thing, childbirth,” Harry says.  “Maybe you’re not freaking out enough. Ever think of that?”

Harry sits back down though, probably realizing that no one is on board with heading to the hospital _right away_. “Is she at All Saints in Lakeland or did they go downstate? My mom says she would never have a baby at All Saints.”

Niall frowns at him.

His sister-in-law is obviously giving birth at All Saints. “All Saints is fine. I was born there, and so were all my sisters,” Louis says. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Louis, that’s not-” Harry cuts in, clearly ready to disagree.

“Kids are born there all the time,” Louis says. “Harry. It’s a good hospital. Your mom works there, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry frowns and looks away.

Niall pulls out his phone. The worry lines that have appeared on his face throughout the course of the conversation disappear, wiped away by a grin.

“Theodore is healthy- 7lbs 3oz. Lara’s a little sick from the drugs, but Greg says she’ll be fine.”

“Congratulations, man. That’s so great. A baby.” Liam sounds awed and Louis wonders how long it’ll take before he and Sophia begin trying for a second.

Not long, if Louis’ suspicions are correct. “Liam, you sly dog. You’re not going home for family game night, you’re going home to make a fucking baby.”

This is probably not quite true, but Louis’ glad he said it because Liam turns pink.

“Dale definitely needs a little sister or brother,” Harry says, as he opens another beer. “And soon!”

Liam continues to stay silent, so maybe he and Harry are not far off the mark.

~

The sun is just beginning to set when Liam and Niall head out. Their little campsite is on the north side of Pine Lake, so they can see it go down over of the water. It’s not quite the view they’d had when they used to do this annual campout at the Top of the World- but it’s still lovely and a far shorter distance to lug their cases of beer.

Louis scoots out of the chair to sit beside Harry in the sand. He settles one of his hands on the sand on the other side of Harry so he can feel the heat of Harry’s back against the inside of his forearm.

They don’t talk. They simply sit quietly, sipping their beer, as the sky turns orange and then pink and then a dusky grey.

“I can’t wait to meet the baby,” Harry says, finally, standing and stretching his arms up over his head. “Can’t wait to watch him grow up.”

Harry won’t be there to watch him grow up, of course. But Louis doesn’t want to think about that, not now, so instead he says, “I love newborns.”

He does, too. He’d loved when his mom had first brought all his siblings home from the hospital. He’d loved holding their tiny bodies against his chest, smelling their fresh, baby-scented heads.

“Me, too. But I always feel like I’m going to break them.” Harry’s got his hands on his hips and he’s eyeing the path back to the car.

Louis doesn’t want to go home just because the other boys have, but he also knows Harry’s got family in town and a business to run.

“ _You_ might break them,” Louis says. He stays seated. The thing is, he and Harry _still_ haven’t had any time alone since, well, since they’d started fooling around in the barn loft last weekend. Louis hadn’t expected to be able to do anything, like, _sexy_ tonight.

But that’s suddenly a possibility and he doesn’t want to give it up.

Harry arches his back and turns his face downward. “You’re rude.”

Louis beams up at him. It’s dark enough that it’s difficult to make out Harry’s expression.

Harry puts out a hand. “Well, come on, you dick. We’ve got to go get the tent.”

Louis lets out a breath. He’d forgotten about the tent and the sleeping bags.

“Sure, I’ll help you carry the stuff back here, you weakling.”

He chuckles a little to himself as he follows Harry down the path, allowing himself to hope that maybe Harry’s as excited about spending a night together as he is.

After a quick cigarette, Louis makes good on his word to help carry things, but he does not offer to help Harry set-up. He’s terrible at it, and, anyway, it’s _dark_.

Harry’s about halfway through laying out the tent and the poles when he realizes that Louis intends to do nothing but stand and watch.

“Lou,” he pleads. “I could use your help. I mean, it’s your family’s tent, after all.”

“You’re doing a _great_ job,” Louis tells him. He has no idea what kind of job Harry is doing, but he’s working very hard and that must count for something.

He’s a very intelligent person. He’ll figure it out.

“That’s really not fair. I cooked dinner and I packed for you and-”

Louis cuts him off. “I’ll give you head.”

Harry freezes and the piece of the tent he’d been holding falls to the ground. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Louis plays it back in his mind. Yeah, it was _definitely_ the wrong thing to say.

“Um,” Harry says. He reaches down and grabs the part he’d dropped. “I can, um. Okay.”

Louis’ eyes widen, but Harry doesn’t notice because he’s working even more diligently on putting the tent together than he had been before. That’s it. He’d just agreed. To put up the tent in exchange for a blow job.

Okay.

Harry’s hands are unsteady as he finishes and now, anticipating the seeing Harry’s dick, putting his mouth on it, Louis _wants_ to help him, to move things along. He doesn’t, though. A deal’s a deal.

Instead, he internally reviews everything he knows about blowjobs. He’s had quite a few, but they’ve all been from the same couple of women, so he hasn’t had much in terms of variety.

He knows no teeth, use your hands, and that he likes them, like everything else, fast and hard.

Except, he remembers the little whines that Harry had made when they’d spent the night together in the loft, remembers how desperate Harry had gotten from the little teasing touches Louis’d started with.

Harry meets his eyes before pulling the tent up and taut, obscuring himself from view. The bag with the stakes jangles, startling Louis into action. He grabs their sleeping bags and backpacks, moving to shove them into the tent, while Harry finishes whatever the fuck he’s doing outside.

When Harry slips underneath the tent’s door, Louis’ laid out both their sleeping bags and fluffed up their extra sweatshirts as pillows. He’s hung the lantern from a little piece of fabric at the top of the tent, so the whole place is lit up.

“Good job on the tent,” Louis says as Harry zips the tent closed behind him. “I knew you could do it.”

Harry turns back to look at him, biting his lip. “Yeah?”

Louis nods and watches as Harry reaches behind his head to pull off his top. “Well, it hasn’t collapsed or blown away yet.”

As Harry reappears and tosses his shirt to the side, he says, “You’re gonna blow me away, though, right?”

Louis rolls his eyes and laughs. “Right.”

Harry’s dimples pop. “That was a good one.”

“Sure was, buddy.” Louis reaches over to rub a hand through his curls.

“I’m not Dale or one of the twins, so fuck off,” Harry says, arching away, his hands dipping low to begin unbuttoning his shorts.

Louis tilts his head. “I thought you wanted my approval?”

Harry pulls the shorts down over his hips. He’s not wearing any underwear and he cups himself from behind. “I want you to suck me off. You promised.”

“Why don’t you lay down?” Louis rolls his shoulders and rubs his hands together, pretending to be clinically unaffected. _Pretending_.

He is very, _very_ affected and he’s sure Harry’s aware. He can probably see the way Louis is tenting his own shorts, harder already than Harry himself.

“Are you ready for this?” He blusters, moving to lean down over Harry’s cock.

“Lou,” Harry says, softly.

Louis licks his lips. And Harry says his name again, “Lou.”

Louis looks up at him. His brows are drawn together and his mouth is soft and unsmiling. “What?”

Harry bites his lip and then he says, “Are _you_ ready for this? I really- Like, I know you’ve never done this before and I don’t want to push you. I know you were joking when you offered. We don’t have to do this.”

Louis can’t hold his gaze, but when he looks down he sees his cock, large and hard. That’s almost worse than his wide green eyes.

“I’m ready. I just,” he hesitates and then meets Harry’s eyes again. “I’ve never done this before, obviously. Yeah. So, maybe you could, like, tell me what to do?”

Harry nods, curls bobbing with his head. “Yeah, that’s cool. I can be sort of bossy.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. Harry can be ‘sort of bossy,; yeah, in the same way Doris can be ‘sort of bossy.’ “You don’t need to be bossy. Just tell me what to do. Just, you know, dirty talk, like those filthy texts you’ve been sending.”

“You don’t think I can take charge,” Harry says. He’s pouting now and Louis knows he’s gonna get mouthy. He takes challenges about as well as Louis does.

“I’m sure you can do whatever you put your mind to,” Louis replies.

“Shut up,” Harry says, brows drawing together. “Shut up and suck my dick.”

Louis licks his lips again and looks down at Harry’s dick, which has wilted a bit.

“If you want, I mean,” Harry adds.

When Louis doesn’t move to do so, Harry continues, “Maybe tease it little with your hands and then lick it.”

Louis takes it into his palm and squeezes, lightly. Louis’ own dick jumps in sympathy, mimicking the motion of the muscles on Harry’s stomach. He’s going to like making Harry feel good this way; he can already tell.

He leans in and smells the rich, bitter scent of Harry’s dick. _Fuck_.

He lets his tongue dart out to lick a stripe up the length of it and it twitches in response. “You like that?”

His voice is breathy, but it’s thicker than Harry’s when he answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

Teasing. Louis remembers. He’s got to tease him _._

He keeps his touch gentle around the base of Harry’s cock as he licks down his length a second time before moving to map the contours of his head, paying special attention to the underside.

“That good?” Louis asks, laughter in his voice. When Harry’s only response is a little whine, Louis adds, “Boss?”

“Put me back in your mouth, Lou,” Harry grates out. As he speaks, his hands pull the sleeping bag underneath him up into two little red mountains on either side of his hips.

“That’s better,” Louis replies, pressing a line of soft, wet kisses down his cock and over his balls. “Remember I’ve never done this before. I need your help.”

But even as he says the words, he knows they aren’t true, not really. Harry’s tip is leaking and Louis knows what he has to do, knows he should lift his head to lick at it, then take him all the way into his mouth.  

Harry’s hips jerk up, choking Louis a bit.   

Harry keens. It’s not an instruction.

“What next?” Louis asks, pulling off and grinning at Harry.

Harry takes a few, loud, shallow breaths and bites his lips. His eyes are on Louis, wide, pleading. “Just, like, you know keep-”

Louis does know is the thing. Now that he’s down here, sucking and licking and kissing, the idea that he wouldn’t know what to do with Harry’s dick seems strange. He’s only been dreaming of getting his fill of it for years.

He takes Harry back into his mouth and begins to suck him in earnest. Meanwhile, he puts a hand atop his own aching cock. He thinks, if he does this right, he might be able to coordinate their orgasms, something he and Eleanor had failed at epicly every single time.

It’s different with Harry, though. For some reason, the little twitches of his cock, the angle of his hip, the rhythm of his breathing- it’s all easy for Louis to read. And it’s so _hot._ Louis’ been waiting to experience Harry like this, pliant and desperate beneath him, since he was sixteen, though he hadn’t really realized it at the time.

As Harry’s hips begin to stutter, his cock heavy on Louis’ tongue, pushing gently at the back of Louis’ throat, Louis speeds up his hand, strokes himself harder and rougher, the friction almost burning his palm. Louis’ just beginning to come, twitching the first wet spurt of it into his shorts when Harry groans and releases into Louis’ mouth.  

Louis swallows; it’s a lot and sour, but Harry’s pleased noises make it worthwhile.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs.

Harry’s breathing hard and when Louis speaks he lets out a soft hum in response.

Louis scoots up the sleeping bag so that he can rest his head on Harry’s chest and listen to his heart. He’s very aware that the wet crotch of his shorts is pressed to Harry’s bare hip.

He runs a finger through the thin, fine layer of hair between Harry’s pecs. “You sometimes shave this?” he asks.

Harry’s eyes are closed when he nods in answer, but then he blinks them open. “Do you want me to?”

“I’d like to see what it’s like, all smooth. But this is nice, too. You look different than you did when we were boys. I’m glad your dick got bigger.” Louis reaches down and gives Harry’s softening cock a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck, don’t do that,” Harry whines, but he doesn’t slap Louis’ hand away. Louis doesn’t think he has the energy.

“Lou,” Harry says, after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah?” Louis asks.

“I know you fit right here on my chest. And I like it. It’s fine,” Harry says.

Louis stiffens. Maybe he’d been reading too much into this. Maybe this was mostly a sex thing for Harry. The cuddling was taking things too far.

God, that’s always Louis’ problem, isn’t it? In for a penny, in for a pound. Can’t do things halfway.

“I can sleep in my own sleeping bag,” Louis says. He tries to make the words sound casual, like he’s actually cool with it, even though he sort of feels like Harry’s about to push him out of a plane, and send his heart into freefall.  

“No,” Harry protests, wrapping a tight arm around Louis. “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” He pauses. “But, I mean, like, if that’s what you want to-”

“What were you going to say?” Louis interrupts.

“I was going to say that I like spooning a lot? Like, a lot, a lot? And maybe you’d want to try to sleep like that?” Harry lifts his voice at the end of each phrase, like he’s ready to be cut down.

Louis’ not going to do that to him. He’s not done much spooning, but having Harry’s body warm against his back, Harry’s cock nestled between his ass cheeks, that sounds like a lovely way to, like, lay awake and pray for sleep.

He rolls onto his side so that his back is to Harry.

“Um,” Harry says. He hasn’t moved. “I wonder if I could be the little spoon?”

He asks the question like Louis might refuse. Louis laughs. “Okay. I can protect you and keep you safe.”

“You’re strong,” Harry says. “And very manly.”

“Why thank you, Harold,” Louis says, rolling into place and wrapping an arm around Harry’s middle.

Having his dick against Harry’s ass, he realizes, will make sleep even more difficult than the other way around. Louis has just come _and_ he’s an adult, but his twitchy dick doesn’t seem to give a fuck.

Harry wiggles his butt. “You like me,” he says.

Louis leans in to kiss his neck. “I do.”

Harry puts a hand over Louis’ wrist. “I like you, too.”

Louis wants to roll his eyes at how dumb they must sound; they’ve been best friends for over twenty years. Of course they fucking like each other.  

But he also wants to pull Harry so tight to him that they meld into the same person so that they can speak stupid sweet things into each other’s brains all day, every day, forever.

Harry wiggles again and the motion loosens Louis’ arm. He’d been holding Harry very, _very_ close, he realizes. “Sorry,” he says. And then, “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lou,” Harry murmurs back, words running together. “‘M too tired.”

“Good,” Louis whispers, pressing another kiss onto his neck. “Stay.”

~

When Louis wakes up, his front is soaked with a mix of his and Harry’s sweat. It’s gross, but, also, he’s glad Harry didn’t drift away from him in the night. He’s glad Harry’s still right here with him, pressed close.

Harry must also be awake because he wiggles his ass teasingly against Louis’ very full and very hard cock.

“Whatcha packin’?” Harry’s voice is rough and it brings Louis right back high school. He’d spent the night over at Harry’s often and it was this time of day, early in the morning, right after he’d woken up, when Louis’d first gotten an inkling of how beautiful Harry’s voice would become.

He remembers jumping on Harry’s bed and watching him bounce bonelessly, still pretending to sleep for another couple of seconds before cracking one eye open. It’s a routine they went through almost every morning they spent together- Louis waking Harry and Harry acting irritated about it (even though that fucker had a much easier time actually getting out of bed and _going_ than Louis did).

But this one particular morning stands out. Harry’d said, “Go away, Lou,” and the words had come out deep and crackly, nothing like Harry’s voice was supposed to sound like.

“Say that again,” Louis’d demanded, wanting to know if his voice had truly dropped. Louis’d only started changing six months earlier and he was _so much older_ than Harry.

“What?” Harry’d asked, confused, voice still alarming low.

“You bastard,” Louis had said punching him in the chest. He’d been weirdly terrified, he remembers now, that puberty would turn Harry into someone way hotter and cooler and smarter than he was himself. He hadn’t wanted to share Harry with girls and sports teams and school counselors trying to get him to go to far away colleges.

So things hadn’t turned out exactly as he’d anticipated, but the end result was the same. Harry’d grown up into someone too good for Louis and for Edwardsville.

“Lou?” Harry asks, grinding back against him again and bringing him back to the current moment.

Louis wraps his arm more tightly around Harry’s waist, Louis’ cock sliding roughly into the crack between his ass cheeks. “Yeah?”

“You like morning sex?” Harry asks.

Louis cants his hips at the same time as he says, “No.”   

A stupid answer for a stupid question.

“Too bad,” Harry replies, turning around in Louis’ arms. “I really like to give morning head.”

“Sweaty balls a thing for you?” Louis asks. He knows he’s disgusting down there, especially after not taking his usual bedtime shower. And, oh _fuck,_ especially after coming all over himself like he had last night and not cleaning up afterward.

Harry simply shrugs and scoots down so that his nose is level with Louis’ clothed crotch. He opens his mouth and Louis’ eyes are caught by how pink his lips look against the shiny grey fabric of Louis’ basketball shorts.

Then Harry’s breathing out hotly against him and the warmth creeps up his body, seeping into his fingers and toes.

“Fuck, Harry. Your mouth feels so good. So hot. Do that again.”

Harry obeys immediately, pushing out another rush of hot air, this one more damp than the last. Harry looks up at Louis through his lashes, questioningly, and Louis nods.

Licking his lips, Harry grins and then takes the elastic waistband of Louis’ shorts between his teeth, tugging them down. Or, rather, trying to tug them down. He’s not very successful and, after a moment, he lets go and the shorts snap against Louis’ bare stomach.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, but he’s smirking and his cheeks are very pink. “Didn’t work like I planned.”

Louis runs a hand through his curls. “That’s okay. Use your hands.”

Harry does, sliding the shorts over Louis’ hips and thighs and then letting them sit around his knees.

“All the way off,” Louis presses, he hates when his legs feel restricted and he wants Harry to be able to settle fully between them.

When Harry’s finished and staring openly at Louis’ cock, eyes wide as Louis’ ever seen them, Louis places his hand at the back of Harry’s head and guides it forward. “You can lick now. I know you want to.”

He means it playfully, but Harry lets out a little gasp and does not laugh. “I do,” he says. “You’re right.”

He dives right in, sucking Louis down all the way in one eager motion and Louis cries out, his whole body tensing in pleasure at the sudden pressure enclosing his cock.

This is not the teasing blow job he’d expected. No, Harry’s hungry for it, his throat working like a fucking _dream_.

“Damn, you’re practiced. Never had anyone deep-” He cuts off when Harry lets out a little moan and the vibration buzzes all through him- a small pebble sending out a whole lake full of ripples.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs. Harry makes the sound again and again the sensation reverberates throughout his whole body and when it settles, Louis balls are tight to his body.

A few thorough strokes and he’ll be over the edge.

“Touch me,” he says.

Harry pulls back a little and wraps his hand around the base of Louis’ cock. Again, he looks up at Louis through his lashes, unmoving.

Louis realizes he’s waiting for Louis’ instruction.

“Pull,” he says. “Fast, _hard._ ”

Harry does, faster and harder than Louis expects, as fast and hard as Louis touches himself, and within moments he’s coming. His eyes close against the sensation shuddering through him, over and over, on and on. Harry stays down, swallowing his come as though he’d been starving for it.

The aftershocks are still echoing in the tips of his fingers and toes when he instructs, “Come on, come up here.”

Harry crawls up Louis’ body and allows Louis to capture his mouth in a deep kiss. He tastes like Louis’ come and the bitterness surprises Louis. It’s not a flavor he’s familiar with, as neither of his exes had liked swallowing and he can’t imagining them wanting to kiss afterward; he likes it.

As he leans in for a second kiss, he snakes his hand down to grab Harry’s cock, which is hard against his thigh.

It doesn’t take but a minute, pulling gently and evenly in firm rhythmic strokes, before Harry is biting into Louis lips and coming over his fist.

They’re both still panting against each other’s necks and Louis’ mind is a happy cloud _harryharryharry_ , when Harry murmurs, “That was good. Better than last night.”

“Last night was good,” Louis protests, because it was. Both orgasms ranked in his top ten, probably, and Harry is certainly his favorite person to pull close to before and afterward. Like, out of anyone, ever.

“Yeah, but you’re _way_ better at giving instructions. Like, I can do dirty talk, so I thought this would be easy. But it’s different, isn’t it? Telling someone what to do, I mean. And you didn’t need my help at all. Like, you just knew.” Harry stumbles through the words, and Louis finds himself reaching down to rub gentle circles on his back as he talks.

“That’s all true.” He takes a breath. “Is it like… is it a kinky thing? For you to follow instructions?”

Harry shakes his head. But then he says, “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never really done it before, not like any more seriously than just now, at least.”

“Oh,” Louis replies, surprised. The way Harry talks sometimes, he’d assumed he’d tried… well, _everything_.

“I want to try it again, though. Like you _really_ bossing me around. We can have a safeword and plan it out, so it’s really kinky, but really good. Fuck. Lou, you’d be amazing. We’d be amazing.” The excitement builds as he talks.

“Slow down, Harry. I’ve literally never done this stuff without all the, like, kinky shit,” Louis reminds him.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, pressing kisses on his neck and chest. “I just want to do _everything_ with you, try _everything_.”

Louis chuckles. “Me, too.” Because he does. It’ll take time, though, more than Harry has up here this summer, probably. But Louis’ eager to do as much as they can, while they can.

~

“Come on, Harry. Show us what you’ve got. You’re about to kick Matty’s ass,” Louis shouts through cupped hands.

Harry’s out behind the boat, head bobbing up and down as he attaches the waterskis to his feet. After a moment, he gives a thumbs and shouts, “Ready!”

Louis cheers when he stands up, which he does immediately, as soon as the boat’s picked up enough speed.

“You’re so good for him.” Harry’s Aunt Elaine smiles at Louis from underneath her sunhat. Louis’ always liked her and her son Matty. He makes a point to come over and spend time with them during their annual summer visit.

She’d seemed different than all of Louis’ aunts and uncles, willing to hang out with the kids, swimming and skiing, playing volleyball and building sandcastles. Hell, he’s pretty sure she even knows how to the drive the boat.

Matty’s at the helm now, though, and, over the grinding of its motor, he shouts, “You really are great together, the two of you. Really glad you’re making it work.”

Elaine reaches over and squeezes Louis’ knee.

Louis’ fingers tighten around his beer. He knows what they’re implying- Harry’s been out to them for almost as long as he’s been out to Louis- but he has no idea why they’d think he and Harry were _together_ together.

Last summer, Louis’ pretty sure he’d brought Eleanor over to one of their bonfires.  

“I’m sure he has better friends in Chicago. Guys he can, like, be _out_ with,” Louis says because he knows it’s true. This is why whatever they’re doing will never last.

He watches Harry’s face darken in concentration as Matty turns the boat, pulling Harry outside the wake so that staying upright on the skis is much more difficult. The muscles bulge out in his arms and calves and thighs and Louis’ caught suddenly with the urge to _touch_.

And he’s jealous of Harry’s better, gayer Chicago friends who might be able to do just that whenever the hell they want.

It’s only when Matty replies that he realizes he’s sort of outed himself with his previous comment.

“That’s bullshit, man. Nobody knows him better or loves him more than you, except his mother. Maybe. That’s what everyone wants in a partner.” Again, from across the little boat, Matty has to yell to be heard over the motor and Louis finds himself looking around, making sure that there are no other boats in the vicinity, even though the idea that they would be able to hear what Matty is saying is outrageously stupid.

Louis thinks about disagreeing, telling Matty he’s got it all wrong, but Elaine is smiling softly at him and nodding her head and he finds their approval a little intoxicating. So instead, he hears himself say, “I don’t know. I try, I guess. But he deserves better.”

At that exact moment, Harry’s arms give out and he crashes, disappearing under the water for a few seconds before popping back up, spluttering, hair now plastered to his face.

Matty’s pulled the boat up to Harry who’s panting and laughing, a ski under each arm. “I did good,” he says, immediately. “Kicked all your asses.”

This is not strictly true. Louis is one hundred percent certain that he could’ve given Harry a run for his money, but Harry’d been driving the boat when it was his turn and had given him a particularly difficult go of it.

He does not protest, though. Instead he says, “Sure did, babe.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue easily, sounding, even to his own ears, like something he says all the time. He doesn’t, of course, but he’s wanted to, especially these last ten days or so and he’s having more and more trouble stopping himself.  

He’d almost said it just this morning, after he’d greeted Harry with a smack to the ass. Harry’d already been in his kitchen when he’d gotten up, cooking some sort of caramel and chocolate treat he’d wanted to get in to the bookstore and the grocery store before heading out to spend the rest of the day with Matty and Elaine. Harry’d squealed at the touch and Louis’d bit back a sappy apology, leaning in to peck his cheek instead.

Now, with Harry’s family _assuming_ they’re together, Louis feels like he has permission, and, like, also. He sort of wants to prove them right, show them that he _is_ good for Harry.

It must not sound normal to Harry, however, because he meets Louis’ gaze and raises one eyebrow, face a pantomime of alarm.

Louis shrugs, figuring the subject will drop and he can let Harry in on their wild misinterpretation of the situation later.

“Harry, he’s much sweeter to you than you are to him,” Elaine says, tone scolding, but eyes playful.

“That’s Louis,” Harry replies, slowly. “Sweet.”

Matty cackles.

“I am sweet to you, babe, if you know what I mean,” Louis presses, raising his eyebrows. From the way Harry’s own brows draw together, Louis gathers that he might be taking this a little too far.

In response, Harry shakes his hair out, sending water droplets spraying in Louis’ direction. Louis retaliates by reaching out to pull at one of his nipples.

“See, I always say I wish I was gay because it’d be so awesome to marry your best friend.” Matty’s taking the boat back in toward shore.

Louis remembers Harry saying almost this exact same thing to Niall. Except he hadn’t mentioned-

“Oh, that’s right!” Elaine coos. “You guys can get married, now, after the Supreme Court ruling. I texted Harry- I was thinking of you that day of the decision. So have you talked about it? I mean, no pressure.”

She giggles and then adds, “Okay, a little pressure.”  

Louis had texted Harry that day, too, a rainbow emoji and a smiley with sunglasses, to which Harry’d responded with an array of hearts, punctuated by the smiley with heart eyes. Louis’d screenshoted it and saved it at the time, not really wanting to think too hard about why, especially as it was so soon after they’d kissed in the back of his truck.

Now, though Harry isn’t wearing heart eyes. Now, Harry is staring at Louis, openly confused, and Louis thinks he’s going to say something, tell his aunt and cousin that they _aren’t_ dating, that Louis’ lying, that Louis’ own mom doesn’t even know he’s not straight.

“Mom. They _just_ started dating this summer. They’re not that serious, yet. Chill,” Matty says.  

“Of course. Of course,” Elaine says, but she’s grinning between them like she suspects Louis’ about to get down on one knee and propose to Harry right here, right now, in front of her.

When that does not happen and instead Harry, still frowning at Louis, sits down in the swivel chair across the deck, Elaine says, “Oh, touchy subject. Sorry, boys.”

“We’re very serious about each other,” Louis says because he can’t imagine ever not being serious and dedicated and 100% devoted to Harry. If he and Harry were full-out boyfriends, he’d make sure he was the most supportive full-out boyfriend that ever boyfriended. “We just haven’t really talked about marriage, yet. Like Matty said. We only got together a few weeks ago.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “We-” he says. Then, he smirks, darkly. “You told me that you never wanted to get married. Changing your tune, pumpkin?”

“I didn’t know marrying _you_ would be an option.” Louis doesn’t think before he speaks; that answer is right on the tip of his tongue.

It’s not a lie, he realizes. He hadn’t thought that it was an option and he still doesn’t. But it’s fun to pretend, for this brief sunny afternoon, that it might be.

The way his eyes are narrowed and his shoulders have tensed alerts Louis to the fact that Harry’s trying to set up a trap, subtly catch him in the lie.

(Which is strange. He’d’ve thought Harry would have liked to play along, would have liked for them to be _out_ to people they both cared about.)

“I’ve wanted to marry you since I was fifteen years old,” Harry answers, voice low, almost too low to hear over the roar of the engine.

They’re almost back at the shore and the way Harry’s looking at him, Louis wonders if Elaine might get her proposal after all.

“Well, I won’t start planning the wedding, yet,” Elaine says and, then, with a little laugh, she adds, “Oh, who am kidding? Yes, I will.”

The boat pulls into the dock. Harry’s mom and a couple of his younger cousins are waiting at the end of it, all wearing life jackets. One of them is carrying a large inner tube.

Robin’s dog barks enthusiastically at Harry as he calls out to them.

“Sorry for having the boat out so long,” Matty says. “These two are really difficult to take down. Pros.”

Anne laughs. “Wish I could of gone out with you.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you _everything_ that happened.” Elaine winks at her. And suddenly the weight of what Louis’d done, implying that he and Harry were in a serious relationship, hits him.

Luckily, as he pulls himself onto the dock, jumping over the that godawful owl, Harry tells his mom, “Don’t believe a word she says.”

Louis follows him, closely.

Harry says something and Louis assumes it’s directed at him since they’re the only two headed toward shore, but he can’t make out the words because Harry doesn’t turn around.

He catches Harry’s shoulder. “What?”

Harry whirls, his wet hair flapping out and smacking Louis in the cheek. “We are going to my room to have a chat.”

“Good idea,” Louis agrees. “I like chats.”

“Not this kind, you don’t,” Harry practically shouts and Louis silently agrees. Obviously, he’s gone and fucked things up. As usual.

They pass another of Harry’s many aunts sitting with his grandma and Robin on the front porch. A few of his cousins are playing the piano in the front room, while his grandpa naps in a chair. No one says more than a passing ‘hello’ as they march through, clearly on some sort of mission.

When they get to Harry’s room, he gestures for Louis to go in first, and then shuts and locks the door behind them.

Louis sits on the twin bed closest to the door. It’s made up and has a pink suitcase sitting at the end of it. Opposite him, behind Harry, he can see himself in a floorlength mirror, bare chested and baseball hat cocked. He frowns at his reflection.  

“You’re angry,” Louis says. “Why are you so angry?”

It’s a stupid question and Louis knows it.

Harry takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

Then, he smiles, but it’s an ugly smile. “So apparently, you and I are dating seriously enough to be considering marriage, eh?”

Louis tilts his head. “I didn’t say that, Matty and Elaine did.”

Harry folds his arms across his chest. “First of all, you did say that. And second of all, even if you hadn’t, you certainly didn’t set them straight.”

“And what should I have said to set them straight?” Louis asks.

God, he’s an idiot. He knows exactly what he should have said. He should have told Matty and Elaine that they had it all wrong, that he and Harry were just good friends, that Harry had a life in Chicago and was _gay_ and that Louis had a life here and was, well, not interested in dating men.

Harry sighs and moves to sit down beside Louis. In the mirror, Louis can see his leg and shoulder. Barely an inch separates them from Louis’ own. “Are you ready, then? To tell people about us? Do you want people to know that you’re into dudes, that maybe your whole ‘Will’ thing isn’t an act? I thought you were still terrified of your mom finding out and even though I think that she’d be fine with it, I was going to respect that. I know my Aunt isn’t from around here, but still. You know what gossip is like in Edwardsville. It won’t stay quiet for long if we don’t put an end to it now.”

There’s a million things Louis wants to say in response. A million. His mind isn’t able to settle on any one of them though and so he lets Harry ramble through his own thoughts.

When Harry finally trails off, the room is quiet. After a moment, Harry presses, “So what do you think? Do you want me to go out there and tell ‘em it was just a joke, that we’d been put up to it by Niall or something?”

Louis runs his hands over his thighs. “This isn’t going to last. You’ve got this job in Chicago. And I’ve got the farm and my family. It’s not like we could _actually_ get married up here.”

Louis stops talking and swallows. _Fuck._ Marriage. Ha.

Harry wasn’t even talking about marriage- he was just talking about right now, whether they were together _right now_. But Louis’ fucking runaway mouth went right to fucking _forever_.

He closes his eyes. “My mom can’t know, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, softly. “So, I don’t get it. What were you thinking, saying those things? It’s not- coming out isn’t a game.”

“I know,” Louis hisses, over the end of Harry’s sentence. Harry has to realize how fucking _not a game_ this is for Louis.

“Then why? If you’re so scared of people knowing, why didn’t you correct them?” Harry sounds puzzled, an angry sort of puzzled.

“They weren’t wrong,” Louis says.

“They _were_ ,” Harry insists.

“I _am_ serious about you.” The words fly out of Louis’ mouth and even as frightening as they sound, he doesn’t want to take them back. He needs Harry to know, to not be mad, to not make them stop, like, whatever they’re doing. To not _leave._

“You are serious about me, thinking about marriage. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. You’d never even _kissed_ a guy before Strawberry Fest and you won’t even consider talking to your mom about us, but somehow you’re ready for a wedding. Definitely makes sense. Great.”

Harry does not think this is great at all. Or believable. Louis can tell by the way he’s rubbing at his temples and nodding his head.

Lying gives him a headache, Louis remembers suddenly. They’d been 12 and 14, when he’d discovered this. They’d stolen a bunch of porn out of the cab of Mark’s truck to sneak peaks of at a sleepover. Mark’d suspected and come after them.

Louis’d flat out lied about having it, figuring Mark couldn’t make a big deal out of it, not if he didn’t want Louis’ mom to find out about the stash.

Harry’d quickly developed a terrible migraine and had to go home before they’d had a chance to look through any of it.

Louis’d began to see the pattern after that. Harry’d gone home sick after he’d told Maria he didn’t want to go to the prom with her because he ‘hated school dances and didn’t want to go to prom at all.’ And Harry’d spent the morning rubbing at the back of his neck as he packed up his car to leave for Chicago the first time; he was going to be fine, he kept saying; he was happy to leave Lake County; he didn’t need anyone to go with him.

Harry hates lying so much it causes him physical pain.

Sure, he pulls little lies out of his ass (like that Zayn is dating an actual supermodel) to fuck with his friends, but about the big things, like who he’s in love with, he’s incredibly honest, especially to his family.

And Louis should have remembered that.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were boyfriends.”

Louis meets Harry’s eyes in the mirror and adds, “But I am serious about you.”

“Do not lie to me.” Harry’s voice is low, still thick with pain.

“I’m not lying. I wouldn’t. You’re my best friend. I love you. How could I not be serious about you?” The words come easy, easier than any other love declaration he’s ever made. He’s loved Harry for a very long time, of course, even if it hasn’t been exactly like this.

“This isn’t about whether or not you’re a serious _friend_.” Harry’s face is now buried in his hands. Louis thinks he must be pouting. “I’m not giving Niall blowjobs and he’s also a serious friend.”

“You’d better not be,” Louis says. And then, taking a breath, he wraps his arm around Harry’s back, “I mean it, though. I do love you, Harry Styles.”

Harry turns toward him, a lock of hair falling forward and covering one of his eyes. Their faces are very close. “You mean seriously, in a romantic sort of way?”

Louis nods and their noses bump. “Yeah,” he says, reaching up to move the curl back behind Harry’s ear. “I do.”

Harry leans forward and brings their lips together in a soft kiss. When he pulls away he says, “That’s really hot.”

“What?” Louis asks, scrunching his nose.

“That you love me,” Harry says. “I’ve never had a boyfriend say that to me before, actually. Not that you’re my boyfriend.”  

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Louis replies. Again the words come out too quickly for him to catch them, but he doesn’t regret them afterward, not really.

Harry bites his bottom lip and Louis leans in to kiss him again.

Harry’s smiling when Louis pulls away. “Would you take me on dates?”

“I’ve never taken any of my girlfriends on dates, why should I start with you?” Louis replies, running a hand down Harry’s back.

Of course, he had taken them on dates and, of course, he can’t take Harry on dates, but Harry gives him a little smirk and, smug as he is, Louis wishes he could take him on all the dates in the world.

He’d take him to Rome, or was it Venice, whichever was the city with rivers for streets, and to Paris, the city of love. He’d take him to see a play on Broadway and to swim with the dolphins in the ocean.

“If I was your boyfriend, I’d take you on dates,” Harry tells him, knocking their noses together.

Louis looks down. At some point his hands had come to rest on the top of Harry’s thighs. He squeezes them. “We can’t really go out, not in Edwardsville or Lakeland.”

“Lots of gay dudes vacation in Glen River,” Harry suggests. His eyes are heavy on Louis’ lips and Louis does not think he’s actually _that_ focused on dates right now.

“Where would you take me in Glen River?” Louis asks. There are nearly ten restaurants in that fucking rich-ass shithole, but Louis would be caught dead before patronizing any of them.

“Chang’s Chow House,” Harry replies. “I have a friend- Patty, you remember Patty? Well, I think he’s working there this summer. He could hook us up with a VIP table, right on the river. Usually you have to give the hostess, like, an extra somethin’ somethin’ to sit out there.”

And, okay, Louis has been to Chang’s many-a-time, usually late at night. But it’s no fine dining establishment and there are no seats on the river, unless you want to sit on the shitty picnic table out back by the dumpster. Louis thinks you can kind of see the river across the highway from there.  

It is, by far, Louis’ favorite restaurant in Glen River. “You know me so well,” he says to Harry.

Harry beams. “So you want to be boyfriends? Go on dates?”

He sounds so hopeful and Louis _does._ He really does.

But, “There’s no way we can actually go on dates, Harry.” `

“I have an idea,” Harry says. “No one will find out. It’ll just be you and me.”

Louis presses their foreheads together. “Okay.”

“Okay, it’s settled. You can try out for the role of Harry Styles’ boyfriend. On a date.”

This time, it’s Harry who brings their mouths together in a soft, teasing kiss. He doesn’t open his lips, not at first, and Louis nips after them in frustration.

Harry’s tongue darts out of his mouth and Louis chases it with his own. It’s a pattern they’ve played out over and over and over again throughout the years, one Louis never tires of.

They used to play tag in the lake and whenever he’d thought he’d caught Harry, the sly bastard would slide under the water and out of his grasp, only to come up behind him, laughing, moments later.

Louis’d laughed, too. He has always liked being teased, when it’s Harry doing the teasing.

As soon as Harry opens his mouth fully to let Louis in, the kiss turns dirty. Harry angles his head so that Louis, freshly shaven for once, feels the tickle of Harry’s stubble along his jaw. The burn tingles through him, a hundred tickling pinpricks.

He whimpers into Harry’s mouth, fingers digging into the meat of Harry’s thighs.

Harry moves his mouth to Louis’ ear. Into it, he whispers, “The walls are paper thin, you know that.”

Louis does know that. He remembers how he and Harry used to sleep with pillows on top of their heads when Anne had first started allowing Robin to stay overnight.

Right now, the house is filled with people which means there are a lot of noises, but also a lot of people to hear _their_ noises.

One of Harry’s hands slips up Louis’ chest and ghosts over his nipple. Louis can’t help his gasp. “Fuck, Harry.”

“Come on,” Harry says, easing Louis back against the bed. “I bet you can be quiet.”

“How much do you bet?” Louis asks, but he allows himself to fall under Harry’s touch.

Leaning over, Harry gives him a quick smacking kiss. “You want to be my boyfriend, right?” He’s pulling Louis’ swim trunks down past his hips.

Louis nods. He does. It’s stupid, pointless, certain to end badly, with Harry _leaving,_ but he does want that. So much.

“Then buckle in. I’m a horny fucker.” He’s pulling his own shorts off now, revealing his cock which is standing out from his body, already fully hard.

Then, Harry whispers, “You don’t want anyone to know either, do you?”

Louis tears his eyes away from Harry’s cock to meet his gaze. He doesn’t think this is a trick question, so he says, “No.”

Harry smirks, rolling onto his side and, _fuck_ , lining their cocks up. Taking them both into one of his huge palms, he says, “Well, then, you’d better be very quiet.

Louis isn’t sure if he manages that. He’s never been good at quiet. Harry doesn’t make quick work of it either. No, as usual, Harry makes slow, playful work of pulling them off, murmuring the occasional “shh” and changing pace every so often.

If Louis’ cock weren’t so heavy and full and fit to burst, he thinks his arm would tire in sympathy. But, as it is, his dick and Harry’s teasing touch demands all his attention.

He catches himself couple minutes in letting out a particularly loud whimper. After that, he buries his face in the curve of Harry’s neck, pressing into it bruising kiss after bruising kiss.

He can’t help the noise he makes when Harry finally pulls him over the edge- it’s almost a wail and he thinks for certain it’ll have someone looking in on them, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

Harry’s coming soon after, with a series of soft gasps, and the feel of his come, wet, mingling with Louis’ own on Louis’ dick and stomach, sends another shiver through Louis.  

No one comes to the door, though, and Louis can’t imagine anyone _saying_ anything, even if they did hear.

Still, someone might know.

“Stop worrying,” Harry murmurs. His voice is rough and he leans in for a kiss. It’s gentle, a warm ‘thank you’ or maybe an ‘I love you.’

Well, probably not the latter. Harry hadn’t said those words to Louis, even after Louis’ own confession. Louis is pretending not to notice, that it’s not a big deal.

He did notice and it is a big deal. But it’s probably for the best. Louis needs as many reminders as possible that this is temporary and, ultimately, impossible.

Harry wipes a wet palm on the bedspread.

“Gross. You have to sleep on this,” Louis says, even though he kind of likes the idea of Harry sleeping in a bed covered in their mixed come. It’s weird and definitely gross, but also, like, hot.

(Maybe Louis can get on board with Harry’s level of kinkiness. Maybe Louis is a kinkier person than he’d thought himself to be.)

“Not me, Aunt Elaine.” He gestures to the suitcase at the end of the bed.

“Oh my god. Harry.” Louis cannot believe him.

“She’ll never find out. I’m going to correct her about us, so she won’t even suspect. Or, rather, I’m going to un-correct her.” He lifts a hand to his forehead. Louis can’t imagine developing a headache now, not after such a spectacular orgasm, but that’s Harry, already anticipating the lie.

“Don’t do that. It’s alright if she, like, if she knows about us, about me. Just, um, tell her it’s a secret,” Louis murmurs, bringing his own fingers up to rub at the nape of Harry’s neck.

“She can’t keep secrets, Lou,” Harry replies.

A little bubble of anxiety rises up in Louis’ chest. To have Harry lie or risk his secrets exposed- what a fucking terrible choice.

“I bet she can, for us,” he says.

Harry bites his lip. Someone on the other side of the wall is shouting and Louis has to strain to hear Harry’s murmur of a reply, “She’ll definitely tell my mom.”

“Are you telling me Anne doesn’t already know?” Louis asks. Harry has often said that his mom knows everything about him, knows things before he knows them himself. It used to drive Louis nuts- he’d always wanted to be the first to know things about Harry.

He’s long since realized that Harry’s mom is his _mom_ and she’ll _always_ know him best and that’s alright.

(It’s odd because Louis’ mom doesn’t have the same ability and it’s always been a relief that he’s been able to keep things from her. But it also makes him kind of, well, kind of sad.)

“I haven’t told her, if that’s what you’re implying,” Harry says. He sounds offended.

“That’s not what I’m implying. Your mom always just _knows_ things,” Louis explains.

Harry laughs. “She does.” Then, he adds. “But I don’t think she knows this.”

“You can tell her,” Louis says. “I want you to tell her.”

One of Louis’ most cherished memories is this: when he was seventeen and Harry, fifteen, he’d snuck into Anne and Robin’s liquor cabinet. Things had been bad between Mark and his mom. The twins had been sick, one after the other for two months and Louis’d done nothing but babysit them. On top of that, his grandfather had just had a stroke, lost use of the left side of his body and they didn’t know how they were going to pay for his nursing home bills, let alone keep up the farm, which had been almost entirely in his care.

Whenever things got bad, Mark always said, “This calls for a beer.”

Louis hadn’t drunk much before that night, a cup of beer here and there at a party, but he knew alcohol made things glowy and warm.

So after a particularly shitty day at home, overhearing his mom in a bitter argument with her brother in Canada about her dad and with Mark about the goats, Louis had escaped to the Styles’.

He’d convinced Harry to sneak the half empty bottle of whiskey out of the kitchen and proceeded to drink it down in a series of big gulps.

Harry hadn’t had any; he’d just watched, wide-eyed and worried.

When he’d started to feel nauseous, Harry’d taken it away from him and called in his mom. Louis’d been mortified, sick to his stomach, the world spinning, and tears rolling down his cheeks.

Anne had come into Harry’s bedroom with a glass of water and a tub for him to throw up into. She’d sat on the bed and pulled him into her arms, even though he was _way_ too old to be cuddled.

He’d begged her not to tell his mom through retching breaths, explaining that his mom did not need another thing to worry about, not now.

Anne hadn’t told his mom, not at the time, at least. She’d just held him and made him promise never to drink that much at once again.

It’s a promise he’s tried to keep and a memory he holds dear- her soft voice and cool hands, her willingness to keep his secret and not judge.

He sort of loves her and he absolutely trusts her.

“Thank you,” Harry replies, pressing in for another kiss. He says it as though Louis’ insistence that he tell his mom is a favor Louis’ doing for him and not the other way around.

 

~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> secret relationship, brief mention of a birth by emergency c-section, brief mention of the epidemic of poor young men dying off due to drug overdoses and war, blow jobs, a coming out of sorts (not totally planned or consensual), arguing over real life relationship shit, an actual literal DTR talk- wild i know, semi-public sex (of the hand job variety),


	6. August 2015 Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Mondays for these last few weeks. 
> 
> Just a technical note: I'm breaking the fic up a bit more. August will have three parts and September, two. It's possible October will also have two. This is how I'd broken it up as I drafted it and it still feels right to me. However, I intend to post the third part of August within the next 24 hours and both parts of September in close succession, all next Monday or next Monday and Tuesday. 
> 
> Spoilery chapter specific warnings at the end.

Louis climbs up into cab of the truck and starts the engine. His phone buzzes in the console and he sees that while he’s been inside Harry’s home updating Robin on the job he’d finished today, Harry’s called him two times and sent him four messages.

The last of the messages reads: _It’s fine if you’re busy. Late notice, I know._

Louis scrolls up.

_Dinner tonight? [winking face]_

_Come over to yours. I’m cooking._

_If you know what I mean. [winking face, eggplant, eggplant, winking face]_

Louis texts back. **on my way. but i hate eggplant.**

Harry doesn’t reply and Louis feels a little flutter in his belly. It’s only been two days since Louis and Harry had agreed to be boyfriends- since Louis’d told Harry he _loved_ him, like _that_ \- and they haven’t seen each other in the meantime.

Louis’d texted Harry a ‘good morning’ today, to which he’d replied, ‘see you later [heart]’. But Harry still has some family in town. In fact, Louis thinks Harry might’ve mentioned that this was his grandparents’ last night in town for the summer. Louis had expected Harry to be tied up at home; he’d expected that they’d have to wait a few more days to revisit their _relationship_ conversation.

As he pulls up his drive, parking beside Harry’s jeep, he wonders what’s so special about this dinner that Harry’s willing to skip out on his _grandma_.

Maybe he wants to take back what he’d said the other day, Louis thinks. Maybe he’s realized how dumb this is, that it’ll never last. Or maybe his mom doesn’t approve. Or maybe his mom wants to tell Louis’ mom.

By the time he steps into the kitchen, his body itches all over. He wants to change into something softer or maybe go out of for a quick run, burn off some of the energy coursing through him. But he also wants Harry to spill. Like, right away.

The counters are clean, which is unusual; Harry’s always got a bowl or a dish or a tray of cookie dough laying around.

Harry’s leaning over the big wooden table to light a candle. He’s set it with Louis’ grandma’s fancy, flowered dishes and on one end, sits a vase he’s filled with matching wildflower cuttings.

Watching Harry’s curls sway as he stands, Louis finds himself relaxing.

Harry would not pull out his the good dishes and a scented candle for a break-up dinner.

“Well, isn’t this sweet,” Louis says, putting his hands on his hips.

Harry turns to him, dimpling. “Lou.”

“You seem to have forgotten the food.” Louis can see a bowl of salad and a basket of bread, but that hardly counts. He tries to deliver the line sternly, communicate hungry displeasure, but he knows it fails. His cheeks already ache with the broadness of his smile.

“It’s out on the grill,” Harry says. They’re walking toward each other, now, and, when they’re close enough, Harry leans down and presses a kiss to Louis’ lips.

“Steak?” Louis asks. He hasn’t had a good steak in months. That’d be a treat.

Harry shakes his head and then presses another kiss to Louis’ lips.

“What, then?”

“You’ll see,” Harry says. “Do you need to wash up or change or anything before we eat?”

Louis looks down at himself. He’s covered in paint and grime and sweat. He probably reeks. Harry, on the other hand, is wearing one of his fancy shirts, pink and floral, unbuttoned past his breastbone.

“You don’t think I look adorable like this?”

“Nope.” Harry takes a step back and eyes him up and down. “You look… handsome. Rugged. Manly.”

“I know the men in your sexiest dreams are always covered in dirt and paint, all sweaty like this.” Louis waggles his eyebrows.

Harry leans in and presses a kiss to the top of his nose. “You look like my dream guy no matter what you’re wearing or how clean you are. You _are_ my dream guy.”

Louis reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear. He sees his dirty, thick fingers against the silky, chestnut strands and realizes suddenly that his throat very dry. He tries to swallow.

Harry doesn’t know him, not anymore. No sooner does the thought occur to him, than it’s taking up room and growing, filling the all hollow spaces in his mind. Harry’s eighteen year old self is head over heels for Louis and that’s it, that’s the long and short of it, the end and the beginning.

The man Harry’s become- educated, fancy, _out-_ would have no interest in Louis, who’s still the same as he was six years ago, a poor, dirty, failure of a farmer, devoted to his mama and going nowhere.

He presses his nose to Harry’s. Better to be honest, especially with Harry. “I’m not. Your dream guy has a job and an apartment in downtown Chicago and lots of money and wants to take you home to his family.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Harry steps back. “My dream guy loves his mom and his little sisters and his friends and he works, like, _really_ hard at whatever he’s doing and he makes me laugh. He’s incredibly charming and spends time with _my_ family and he supports my random business ideas and, most importantly, _he loves me_.”

Louis looks down and doesn’t reply.

“Oh. Also.” Louis looks back up at the surprise in Harry’s tone. Harry’s smile turns saucy when he sees that Louis has met his gaze. “My dream guy has a fantastic ass.”

Louis grins back despite himself.

“And a fantastic smile,” Harry adds.

Still.

“You wish I wanted to bring you home to mom. You wish I had ‘drive’ and lived in Chicago,” Louis says. Because Harry’s a sweetheart, but he’s also spinning the truth.

Harry’s eyes go stormy, his brows draw together, and his lips press out. His pout is deadly. “Why won’t you believe I like you how you are?”

“I know you like me,” Louis says.

“I love you,” Harry says. “And I have to go get the salmon off the grill. Be right back.” He leans in and presses a kiss against Louis’ lips. Louis’ caught off guard by Harry’s sudden change in mood, from angry confusion to tenderness almost instantaneously, and doesn’t return the kiss.

Also. _Shit._ He’d just confessed his love. Just like that. Like it meant nothing, like Louis hadn’t been waiting for days (months, _years)_ to hear it.

When they’re sitting down at the table, plates loaded up with grilled salmon and asparagus and salad, and Louis is buttering his dinner roll, Harry picks up the conversation.

“I _love_ you,” Harry says. “I mean that. I know I didn’t say it back the other day and I feel bad about that. I didn’t want to just say it to say it, you know? I’ve done that before, with other boyfriends and, like, there’s too much history between us for me to want to do that with you. I wasn’t sure if you meant it and I wasn’t sure if I meant it, but I think you do and I know I do.”

Louis bites into the roll; it’s still a little warm from the oven and it melts a little on his tongue. After a moment he says, “Well, I meant it, too. I love you. I don’t know how I could _not_ love you. And, for the record, I’ve said it before and not meant it, but I mean it with you.” He pauses and then figures, _what the hell_ , and adds, “For the first time.”

“You dated Eleanor for _three_ years!” Harry exclaims, a bite of salmon halfway to his mouth.

But Louis is being honest. He feels this pull toward Harry whenever he’s around and this uncontrollable, happy flutter in the pit of his stomach whenever he thinks of him. It’s never been like that before. Not with Eleanor, not with anyone.

“I didn’t love her, though. I knew my mom adored her and my sisters thought she was ‘so pretty.’ And she was good at being a girlfriend. She was good in general, way better than I probably deserved. But, like, we didn’t really have much in common. We didn’t have _fun_ together.”

“I bet I’m better at being a boyfriend than she is at being a girlfriend,” Harry says.

Louis laughs. “Yeah. My mom and sisters already like you better.”

Harry’s face darkens again and he stabs at an asparagus. After a moment, he says, “You’re really not going to tell them about us.”

No, obviously not. Louis’d assumed he’d been clear about that. Harry can’t expect that Louis’d upend his whole life and all his relationships, his _family’s_ whole life and all _their_ relationships, because they’ve decided to be boyfriends for a summer.

Because that’s all how long this will last: one summer. One half a summer, really.

Harry may have faith in their long-term compatibility, but Louis’ doesn’t. This won’t last. Harry will realize that he was right all along, that he doesn’t belong in Lake County, that he’s too big, too creative, too _free_ for this place.

That’s not how it is for Louis, though. Louis fits in Lake County like a puzzle piece, easy and smooth, almost necessary to complete the picture. Sure, it’s limiting- hell, it’s going to keep from _Harry_ \- but it’s also _right._

And he can’t risk changing that. If he stops fitting here, where will he go?

 

“I can’t tell my family I have a boyfriend. You have to see that. I just can’t.” Harry winces and Louis realizes that he’s raised his voice. God, they were just happy and flirting and now he’s fucked it all up again. This is exactly why he’s not Harry’s dream guy.

_Fuck_.

“I’m sorry. You already said that. I shouldn’t have asked again.” Harry sets down his fork and leans back in his chair. His frown is soft and Louis thinks he might feel genuinely apologetic.

Louis sighs. “I love salmon.”

Slowly, Harry dimples. “I know.”

Louis laughs. “Of course, you do.”

“I just wanted to have a nice dinner with you, a date, like. And to tell you that I love you. And to make sure you know that I really, really hope you meant it when you said you wanted to be boyfriends. I didn’t mean for it to turn into an argument or to pressure you to come out or anything like that. Just, I don’t know...” Harry’s choosing his words carefully, rambling round and round as he tries to explain himself.

Under the table, Louis knocks his toe into Harry’s shin. “I’m glad. Have anything planned for after?”

“Well, you could fuck me.” Harry’s finished his food already and he places his elbows on the table and leans forward to punctuate the statement.

Louis drops his fork and it clatters against his plate.

“Harry,” Louis says.

“Louis,” Harry replies. He bats his eyelashes and Louis realizes he’s joking. He must be joking.

Underneath the table, he kicks Harry’s shin again, harder this time.

“I made dessert,” Harry says, licking his lips.

Louis finishes his last bite of salmon. “Give me a minute to digest this.”

Harry’s smile widens- _like, how the fuck is that even possible-_ and he says, “What are you trying to say about my dinner?”

“That it’s delicious and I want to enjoy it. Jesus.”

The smile on Harry’s face turns sideways and sly and Louis is still thinking about his offer.

Does Harry really want to fuck? And does he mean _fuck_ fuck, or just, like, other stuff, hand jobs and blow jobs and dry humping- stuff they’ve done before.

That, the other stuff, seems more likely.

Louis’ watched porn that included butt fucking. Not a lot. He doesn’t have wi-fi and the data on his phone is limited. But he’s been able to download a few videos and stash them away on his ancient laptop.

It seems like the people on the screen enjoy it, and the idea of being inside Harry, of Harry hot and tight around him, has Louis cock thickening right here at the dinner table.

But also. He’s never actually _done_ anything remotely, like, asshole related before, not with Harry or any of his girlfriends.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Harry says.

Louis’ frown deepens. “The only thing I’m in danger of is choking on your food.”

“I mean from thinking too hard.” That’s Louis’ line. He must’ve said that to Harry a million times over the years.

But here, in this context, talking about love and about sex, particularly sex with two dicks and no vaginas, Harry has somehow gotten the upper hand.

“What did you make for dessert?” Louis asks.

“It involves chocolate sauce and whipped cream,” Harry says. He’s standing and grabbing their plates off the table.

Louis’ eyes catch on the candle as a drop of wax slides down the side of it and sticks to the holder.

“Why does that sound ominous?” Louis asks.

Harry cackles. “You have a dirty mind,” he says, meeting Louis’ eyes.

This is a game, Louis realizes. Harry’s not serious. He’s _playing._

Louis licks his lips and arranges his face into the smarmiest expression he can manage. Harry’s grin blossoms, dimples deepening, the lines around his eyes multiplying. Louis’ can’t remember the last time he’d looked so pleased.

He can feel his own face transform in response.

God, he really, really does love Harry.

Despite Louis’ protest, Harry’s pulling ice cream out of the freezer and then whipped cream and chocolate sauce out of the fridge.

“I would have thought you’d have baked me something, seeing as that’s your specialty,” Louis teases.

Harry doesn’t respond. He’s dumping the cold chocolate sauce into a bowl and sticking it in the microwave. His shoulders wiggle a little as he moves and Louis imagines that he must be dancing to a song that’s playing in his head.

Actually, that’s a good idea. “Want me to put on some tunes?”

“What?” Harry says, turning around, and schooling his features into a pout. “Need a distraction from our conversation?”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“I just wanted to see you shake your ass to Shakira. Or maybe roll your hips to Ricki Martin.”

Harry smirks. “Twerk to Miley?”

“Oh god. I’ve seen that before.” Two summers ago, Harry’d spent the entirety of the week he was home in Edwardsville attempting to teach the rest of them to twerk, as well. One night Louis’d succeeded in getting Liam and Zayn drunk enough to actually try. Niall’d caught it on camera and they’d youtubed the _shit_ out of it.

If Zayn ever fulfills his dream and makes it big, Louis is sure as hell going to sell that video for some cold hard cash.

Harry’s begun to hum to himself as he lifts a towel off a pan Louis hadn’t even noticed earlier. Brownies.

Harry lifts one out of the dish and Louis sees caramel seep out the middle. _Holy shit._ He is definitely dating the right person.

“Is this good enough for you?” Harry asks as he sets in front of Louis a bowl of caramel filled brownie with vanilla ice cream drizzled in chocolate sauce and topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream.

“Harry,” Louis says, when Harry’s seated across from him. “You didn’t have to do all this. I know your family is in town and the food can’t’ve been cheap. I’m not, like, a girl. I don’t need you to woo me.”

He meets Harry’s gaze across the table. He means every word. He’d love Harry no matter what. He’ll probably always love Harry no matter what.

Harry shrugs and raises his eyebrows. “Hey, now. Don’t pretend you don’t like it. Everyone likes to be wooed, not just girls.” He takes a bite of his own dessert and moans around it. “So good.”

Louis hasn’t tried it yet; he’s been too busy watching Harry waltz (not gracefully, never gracefully) around the kitchen. “I haven’t really wooed you,” he says.

He’s never been the best boyfriend and he can already tell he’s going to make an even worse gay boyfriend. He has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

Harry laughs. “You won me a giant teddy bear and gave me a fantastic blow job and told me you loved me first. You’re the already the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, by a long shot, and we haven’t even been dating a week yet.”

Louis takes a bite of his dessert, as it’s melting on his tongue, he watches Harry watch him.

“Aren’t you going to moan? Isn’t this moan worthy?”

“You’re a cocky asshole, aren’t you?” Louis replies, after he’s swallowed it down.

Harry dimples. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“I suppose I did,” Louis replies. But it’s not true. He hadn’t. He still has _no idea_ what he’s gotten into.

Later, after they’ve finished the dishes, Harry puts on Marvin Gay cause he’s a cheesy fucker and, phone in one hand, the other unbuttoning his shirt, he saunters across the kitchen to Louis. Then, he wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist and drags him through the hall and back into Louis’ own bedroom.

Harry sets his phone on Louis’ dresser, Marvin still cooing tinnily from its tiny speakers.

In front of the big mirror, he begins to pull Louis’ shirt over his head. It’s filthy, and Louis remembers that he’s filthy, too, that he hasn’t showered since he got off work. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though.

Louis lifts his arms, allowing it.

“God, look at you,” Harry says.

Louis does. His reflection isn’t flattering. His arms look to too skinny and, despite the fact that he can see the faint outline of his ribs, his stomach looks soft.

“Don’t pretend that I’m some sort of beautiful, exotic creature,” Louis says. “I know what I look like.”

Harry lowers himself, pressing a line of kisses down Louis’ sternum, over his bare belly, and then stopping when he reaches the top of Louis’ jeans.

He looks up at Louis through his lashes. “You are a beautiful, exotic creature.”

“Harry,” Louis warns. He feels hot all over. Harry’s eyes are honest and he remembers suddenly how much Harry hates to lie, how even dancing around important truths gives him headaches.

He doesn’t look like his head is hurting him now.

His eyes are soft, as he licks his lips. His fingers are deft, unbuttoning and unzipping with surprising ease.

For how clumsy he is, Harry’s got amazing hands.

Louis wants Harry to know that Louis knows this, so he tells him. “You are so good with your hands. Like, you make me feel so…”

Harry squeezes Louis’ cock, which is already mostly hard, and looks up at Louis’ face. He waggles his eyebrows “You’re a lucky guy, eh?”

Louis nods and then places his hands under Harry’s armpits, pulling him back up. He wants to kiss him.

Harry allows himself to be lifted, meeting Louis’ kiss, hungry, but not urgently so, taking his time to explore the shape of Louis’ lips and the taste of his mouth.

Louis feels himself relax into it. It’s good, _different_ from any other they’ve shared. Here, in his room, with piles of his dirty clothes at their feet and a mess of shucked sheets and blankets beside them covering his unmade bed, Louis is more comfortable than he’d been in the back of his truck or in the loft of his barn or on the floor of his cramped tent.

And his room is more private than Harry’s had been, with nobody around else around, nobody for a mile in any direction, probably.

It helps, too, to know that this isn’t their last chance at this, that Harry has promised to stick around, at least for the time being.

So the moment is messy and cheesy, but wonderful- a treasure of a moment- and Louis wants to hold onto it tightly.

Instead, it’s Harry he’s holding tightly, fingers digging into the meat of Harry’s shoulders, lips pressing, hard and wet, into Harry’s own and then into the skin at Harry’s jaw and then the hard line of Harry’s neck.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear. “Don’t ever leave.”

Harry nods.

“Me, too. God, Louis. I’ve wanted you like this for so long.” Harry sounds like he has to force out the words, voice thick.

“Yeah?” Louis says. He wants Harry to keep talking, to wrap them tighter together with his rough, scratchy rumble of thoughts.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I’ve imagined kissing you for years. Since we were boys. I’ve imagined how soft your lips would be against mine and how tangy you would taste when you opened your mouth for me. It’s better than I hoped, you know.”

Louis can feel the movement of Harry’s jaw against his scalp as he talks. “How so?”

Harry hums. “You taste less like cigarettes and more like chocolate.”

“You just fed me chocolate. That’s why I taste like chocolate,” Louis reminds him. In case he’s forgotten.

Harry hums again and then slides his hands down to cover Louis’ bare ass. “Wish I’d covered you with it instead. Drizzled it over your ass so I could lick it off. I could have you squirming beneath me. What was I thinking?”

“That wouldn’t have accomplished the same thing though,” Louis argues, pressing a kiss against Harry’s throat. “I would need to cover you in it. Then I’d lick it off your ass and still taste like chocolate.”

“Good idea,” Harry says. “I have more chocolate sauce.”

Louis laughs, but then he hesitates because he doesn’t know if Harry is serious. “Um.”

“Or,” Harry says, hand sliding around front and in between them. “I could suck you off. Your come tastes better than chocolate.”

Louis’ hips twitch, pressing his cock up and into Harry’s palm. He believes Harry; he remembers the way Harry’d swallowed before, greedily and without complaint. But to hear Harry say it aloud, ask to do it again, like, _fuck._

Louis should return the favor, match Harry’s filthy mouth with Louis’ own filthy thoughts. “Your mouth is fucking perfect. God, Harry. When you sucked me off last weekend, at the campout, you were so good. So hot and wet for it. I want to feel that again. Feel you tight around me. Want it so bad.”

Harry’s fingers tighten around Louis as he speaks and when Louis pauses to take a breath, Harry lets out a little whine.

Louis can feel Harry’s cock, now, too, so fucking large against his hip. Harry likes this. He likes Louis’ dirty talk.

It’s not something Louis’d ever done before, not something he’d ever thought to do with Eleanor. But, fuck, if it gets Harry this desperate, he’s not about to stop now.

“Yeah? You like that? You hungry to take me again? Your mouth feels great, but I bet your ass would feel better.”

Louis’ breath hitches after he hears the words come out of his mouth. Harry’d suggested it earlier- that Louis fuck him- but Louis hadn’t known if he meant it. He probably hadn’t. He’d probably just been trying to rile Louis up, get him hard with a little dirty talk. Well, now Louis’ returning the favor.

“Lou,” Harry moans, his fingers are still tight around Louis’ cock and his hips have begun to buck, short, little movements, against Louis’ hip.

“You want that, too?” Louis asks, realizing he must; Harry must want to be fucked. “You want me inside you? You want to feel my dick fuck into you?”

God, never mind. He’s terrible at this. Pretty words were never his thing.

And yet, Harry’s nodding against the top of his head. “Yeah, fuck Lou. I want you in me. I bet you’d be able to find just the right angle. Make me feel so good.”

Harry sounds _wrecked_ and that alone is enough to wreck Louis, his cock twitches in Harry’s fist. “Your tight asshole is probably fucking ready for me isn’t it. You probably fucked yourself on your fingers earlier, didn’t you? Were you imagining they were me?”

Louis doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but suddenly he’s picturing it, Harry, lying in his little twin bed, lubed up fingers in his ass, calling out for Louis.

“Yeah,” Harry gasps. “I did that. Yeah. I was pretending my dildo was _you_.”

_Fuck_ , if that doesn’t bring the picture into sharper focus. Louis has seen Harry’s dildos, or at least one of them. It sat, thick and black and sleek, on his bedside table the last time he’d been over there to swim. He’d ducked into Harry’s room to grab a pair of sunglasses to take out on the boat and there it was, out in the open, a tube of lube beside it.

Louis’d been appalled, first at the size of the thing and second that he’d left it out there _this_ _week_ with his family filling the house.

But Louis sometimes forgets how little shame Harry has about these things. Harry’s brazenness used to embarrass him (though not as much as his own body’s reaction to it). But he also likes it, especially here on his bed, with Harry moaning and humping Louis’ hip.

“Lou, oh fuck, _please_ ,” Harry says.

“Okay,” Louis murmurs. He wants this, he realizes. He wants to fuck Harry and he wants to do it right now.

Louis’ thinks it’s sort of cliche, doing it like this, fucking for the first time after they’ve both confessed the ‘l’ word. It’s exactly the kind of thing that always happens in his mother’s stupid, unrealistic romantic movies.

But Louis doesn’t want to wait. Maybe it’s a fucking cliche for a reason.

“Let’s do it,” he says.

Harry freezes. “You really want to fuck me?”

Louis nods.

Harry pulls back and meets Louis’ gaze. He bites his lip and Louis’ stomach plummets. He’s read the situation wrong. Harry doesn’t actually want to fuck- it’s just a thing he’s saying because it’s hot to say, to think about.

Louis is an idiot, turns out.

“We don’t have to.” He swallows and looks down. Between them, his cock juts out from his body and just a few inches higher, Harry’s cock is bulging out the front of his jeans.

“No,” Harry says. “No, I want to. I just didn’t think you’d want to. I mean, ass stuff is, like, really gay. Some guys, especially, like, dudes who haven’t done anything with other guys before, aren’t into it. I thought you might not be. Or you might want to wait. You hadn’t ever really tried to, um, touch me there before so I wasn’t sure if you, like…”

As he speaks, the words come slower and slower and slower until he’s trailing off and biting his lip again.

“Hey,” Louis says, leaning in for a kiss. “I mean, I’m not totally sure about it. But I guess, being inside a girl is a pretty incredible feeling and, like, I can only imagine that being inside of you, Harry Styles, my _boyfriend_ , who I _love_ , would be better.”

Harry’s biting his lip again when Louis finishes, so Louis cups his face between his hands and leans in for another kiss.

Harry melts into it easily, but Louis keeps the press of his lips gentle. When they pull apart, Harry’s sort of smiling. “I’m glad you want to do it. I do, too.”

_Holy. Shit._ Louis is going to fuck him. Right here. Right now.

Suddenly, Louis can’t find the air to draw in another breath. His chest feels tight and the fact that Harry looks so wide-eyed, so _hopeful_ \- it’s too much.

“Are you kidding? You’re offering to let me inside you? Of course, I want it,” he blusters, smacking Harry’s ass.

“Lou,” Harry says. “I do. And, like, it’s a _big deal_.” He cants his hips, thigh rubbing against Louis’ dick, emphasizing just how _big_ of a deal it is. Then he freezes. “But....”

When Louis looks up, he’s chewing his lip again.

But.

“But what?” Louis asks.

“But I didn’t really come prepared.” Harry sits down on the bed and gives his bulge a firm rub.

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” Louis says, flashing his fingers in Harry’s direction. He’s never had his fingers up anyone’s ass, not even his own, but, like, it can’t be too hard, especially not if Harry likes it as much as his giant dildo seems to suggest.

Harry shakes his head.

Louis sits down beside him. “What?”

“It’s not that. I really did, um, like, fuck myself earlier, thinking of, like, _you_ ,” he says. His hand is still resting on his cock and Louis is very, very tempted to replace it with his own.

“Then what is it?” Louis asks.

“I didn’t bring lube or a condom. I really didn’t think you’d want to move this fast. Like, I’m glad you do, but I thought you’d want to take it slowly. You’ve always been so cautious about your relationships and it’s not like you’re all gung ho about the gay thing, or whatever. So I didn’t think that-“

Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Shh,” he says.

Harry turns his head so that they’re kissing again, soft at first, but then harder, dirtier. They’re both still hard. Louis thinks Harry’s still thinking about fucking- he knows _he_ is.

He pulls back and licks his lips. “You’re not the only one with condoms and lube.”

Harry’s eyebrows go up and then he falls backward onto Louis’ bed, scooting his body across it until he can reach Louis’ bedside table. He pulls open the top drawer and begins to dig through Louis’ socks.

Meanwhile, Louis leans forward and pulls the little tube of lube from underneath mattress. He tosses it at Harry’s head and then stands. He thinks he’s got a condom in a bag from the camping trip and Eleanor had taken last fall.

And, yes, in the front pocket of his backpack- there it is, expiration date quickly approaching but thankfully not passed.

“You got it?” Harry says and when Louis turns back to him, he sees that he’s pulling down his jeans.

His dumb, fancy shirt is still hanging from his shoulders, the bottom buttons done up, and that’s not gonna work.

Louis walks back toward the bed and Harry, now on his knees atop it, moves toward the edge, toward Louis.

Louis leans down for another kiss. Meanwhile, his hand snakes down to try to unbutton the last couple buttons on Harry’s shirt, but they don’t move like he expects and his fingers get stuck.

Harry breaks the kiss, giggling. “Let me.”

In a moment, his shirt is off and on the ground, all the buttons still in tact. Harry truly has magical hands.

“You really want to fuck me?” Harry asks again.

Louis laughs.

“I’m not kidding.” Harry pouts. “It seems like a big step for you.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Louis says.

Harry bites his lip. “I know, but-“

“But,” Louis runs a finger down Harry’s spine and over his crack and then lets it hover atop his hole. The muscles tense underneath the press. “You really fucked yourself on a sex toy thinking of me today?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Not the first time either. Not even close.”

Louis leans in for another kiss.

“When was the first time?”

Harry wraps his hands around Louis’ waist and pulls him down so that they’re both laying on their sides on the bed.

“Can’t remember. I’ve wanted you forever, probably. Wait, actually, I do remember.” He’s talking in that slow thoughtful way he has, as though he has all the time in the world, as though his cock isn’t standing straight out from his body, already a little wet at the tip.

Louis wants to wrap his hand around it, but he also wants Harry to finish his thought.

“You do?” he prompts, when Harry doesn’t immediately continue.

“I got my first dildo when I was sixteen. I’d used my fingers before that. But the first time I fucked myself on a _toy_ thinking of you, I was sixteen. I’d gone to Chicago with Robin and he let me go out shopping on my own one afternoon. My mom would have been appalled by that, but it was a work trip for him, a conference or something, and he couldn’t really make me attend all his meetings or wait in the hotel room. Anyway, I googled sex shops because I knew I wanted one and I knew I’d never be able to get one in Edwardsville or Lakeland- could you imagine? I mean there’s that sex shop off the highway, but I know Ian the owner; I’ve sat next to him at the bar at Horan’s.”

Louis gives in and takes Harry’s cock in hand. Harry’s clearly not going to get to the sexy part of the story, anyhow.

“Anyway,” Harry says, gasping at Louis’ touch. “I took that toy back up to the hotel room, locked myself in the bathroom and tried it out. All I could think about was how sometimes, when you wore your basketball shorts in the lake, you’d get out and they’d be all plastered to your body and your dick would look so damn big, especially if there were girls in bikinis around and you’d gotten hard. I mean, I’d seen you naked of course, lots of times. But the outline of your hard cock in wet shorts fucking does something to me Louis, to this day.”

That’s enough for Louis, picturing Harry sneaking looks at his dick, getting hard thinking about it later. He’s got one hand on Harry and one hand on himself and he’s still intent on _fucking_ Harry, so he cuts Harry off with another kiss.

Harry pushes Louis onto his back and situates himself so that his ass is grinding on Louis’ cock. It’s tight and hot already, the friction of just his skin enough to have Louis’ moaning.

Harry grins and shakes out his curls. He’s beautiful, as soft and lovely as any girl Louis’ ever been with, and Harry must know it, the way his shoulders are set straight and his chest sort of puffs out.

Ever since he hit that growth spurt senior year, Harry’s been trying to make himself seem smaller. He hunches closer to everyone he meets, trying to be eye level with them. But here, atop Louis, he looks big and broad and proud.

Louis fingers dig into his hips. “You’re beautiful, Harry.”

Harry dimples and then bites his lip and winces.

Louis realizes Harry’s hand has dipped back behind him and between them, a finger no doubt slipping up inside himself.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says. “You tight? You need some of that lube?”

Harry nods.

Louis reaches for it, the tube smooth and cool between his fingers, and then pauses, before handing it to him. “Do you want me to…?”

He trails off because he doesn’t know exactly what he’s offering. Thankfully, Harry shakes his head. “Another time. I want you, like, _soon_. And, um, I know what I’m doing.”

Louis offers a small smile as Harry takes the little tube from him. “Tell me what you’re doing, so I can learn.”

Harry shakes his head. Voice, heavy with a whine, he replies, “Not now, Lou. I don’t think I can.”

It takes him a couple of minutes to open himself up and Louis watches patiently, as he bites his lip and twists his arm.

Every once in awhile he lets out a little mewl or a gasp and Louis wants to know what he’s feeling. He’s a little frustrated that _he’s_ not the one drawing the noises out of Harry.

Between them, Harry’s cock softens a little, but his nipples remain hard little nubs. Louis wants to pull at them, or, better yet, take one into his mouth. He doesn’t, though. He just watches and _wants._

The back of Harry’s knuckles rubs hard against the top of Louis’ cock and the friction draws out a moan.

“You’re loud,” Harry grates. “Louder than I expected.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Louis says and Harry’s eyes cloud over. Louis doesn’t know if it’s because of what he’s doing with his fingers or if it’s because of what Louis’ said, so he adds, “I mean by my mom and teachers and stuff.”

Harry hisses out a breath, not quite a laugh.

“I’m ready,” he says.

He sits back a little, withdrawing his fingers, and watches Louis. Louis doesn’t know what to do. He was expecting Harry to continue leading them through this, but Harry remains still.

Eventually, Harry nods his head to the side and Louis looks down. The condom. Yes. Put on the condom, he can do that.

His fingers shake as he tries to open the package, and then, when he pulls, it slips and slides and does not rip.

“Lou,” Harry whines.

“I can’t figure it out. _Fuck_. I’m such a fuck-up.” Louis wants to fuck, yeah, but he wants to do it right, make sure Harry’s enjoying it too and he’s already screwing it all up.

It’s just. It’s Harry and sex and it’s happening so quickly.

Fingers glistening with lube, Harry pulls the foil packet out of Louis’ hands and rips it open with his teeth before offering it back.

His smile is soft, understanding.

God, he should not have to be _understanding_ to the guy he’s letting _fuck_ him. As he rolls down the latex, Louis leans up and in for a hard kiss. When he pulls back he takes both their cocks in hand, his hard, rubber-covered flesh against Harry’s smooth and soft, and pulls and pulls until Harry’s hard again, too, and murmuring, “Come on, Lou. Don’t worry about- fuck- don’t worry about that. I’m ready for you.”

Louis nods, lays all the way back down, and puts his hands on Harry’s hips. “How should we…?”

But before he’s finished the thought, Harry’s guiding him inside.

Fuck. He has to close his eyes against the pressure, which surrounds his cock and then his middle and then somehow whole body.

“Good?” Harry’s voice is choked and Louis blinks his eyes open and takes him in. He’ leaning down, watching Louis’ face, eyes wide, smile strained. Louis lets his gaze wander over Harry’s body. He’s gone mostly soft again.

“Good?” he asks again.

Louis nods, not trusting his voice.

“You’re really big,” Harry says, words coming slow, effort apparent in the sweat on his brow. “I’ve not, like, I’ve not had an actual dick this big inside me before. Toys, yeah. But not people. I’ve thought about it. I always knew you were fucking huge, especially hard like this, knew you’d fill me up, but I had no idea it would feel this way.”

Louis moans in response. It’s the only sound he can make. Harry’s barely moving atop him but he feels like he could come any moment. Fuck- he hasn’t felt this out of control, this _on the verge_ since his first time in eleventh grade with Hannah.

He moves his hands over Harry, trying to distract himself, stave off the inevitable. His fingers trace Harry’s stomach and pluck at Harry’s nipples.

It’s not the best idea he’s ever had because, as he does so, Harry’s muscles clench around him.

Louis gasps. “Harry, I can’t, like, I can’t do this very long.”

Harry’s moving now, just beginning to find a rhythm atop him. He hasn’t started to make those little mewling noises again, the ones his own fingers had been drawing out of him. Louis wants to hear them again, wants to know that this is _good_ for him, too _._

It’d been so easy to read Harry with his mouth on his cock and he’d sort of thought it’d always be like that. _Fuck._

Harry clenches around him again and Louis hisses out a breath. It isn’t like that, this time.

But it’s still the best feeling Louis’ ever felt and Harry’s body on top of his is the most lovely sight he’s ever seen and he wants it all to _last._

Of course, it doesn’t.

Harry’s rocking his hips and Louis’ beginning to meet him, hoping to aim for a different, better angle, when Harry’s muscles tighten a third time and that’s it.

Louis feels himself let loose, coming hard into the condom, into _Harry_.

“Fuck,” he groans, tensing all over.

Harry keeps rocking his hips, that perfect, steady back and forth, meanwhile managing to lean down and capture Louis’ lips in a kiss.

When he pulls away, Louis’ orgasm has worn down and he’s panting a little. He reaches for Harry to find him completely soft.

“You didn’t come, too, did you?”

Harry shakes his head. “No.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Louis says. Jesus _Christ_ , he’s some sort of shitty-ass boyfriend.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “We’ve got all night.”

But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his phone begins to ring in his jeans on the floor.

He scoots down the bed and by the time he’s dug it out, it’s stopped ringing. “Just my mom,” Harry says, setting it on the bedside table. “Probably nothing.”

The phone buzzes with a voicemail, but Harry doesn’t check it, instead curling into Louis’ side and guiding Louis’ hand down to hold his still soft cock.

Except the phone begins to ring again. Harry tenses and Louis says, “Go ahead.”

He sounds more irritated than he feels, probably out of exhaustion.

“Mom?” Harry answers.

Louis can hear her voice ring through the speakers of the phone. She sounds angry. Anne is rarely angry.

“I know, but this stuff for work was really important... Yeah, I know they’re leaving tomorrow.” Harry rolls onto his back, away from Louis with a huff. “Yeah, I’ll come home for the bonfire.”

Harry tenses again and his eyes flit to Louis. “Yeah, I’m with him. Yeah, I’ll let him know that he’s invited, too. Love you…. See you soon.”

When sets the phone down on the bed and pulls himself up into a sitting position, he’s pouting. “My little cousins and grandparents are leaving tomorrow. My mom wants me to come home.” He looks at Louis and then at his lap. He’s fully soft now and Louis figures the heat of the moment, his chance to give Harry _something_ in return, has passed.

Quietly, Harry continues, “I do want to spend some time with them before they go. So I guess we’ll have to postpone this.”

Louis pecks at his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Mom wants you to come, too,” Harry says.

Louis runs his hands down the tops of his sweaty thighs. “I’m disgusting, Harry. Even the woodsmoke isn’t going to cover up my funky-ass smell.”

Louis doesn’t want Harry’s family to think he’s some sort of white trash slob, especially now that some of them know that he and Harry are dating.

“We’ll go skinny dipping! You can wash off in the lake.”

Louis imagines jumping off the end of Harry’s dock and the cool lake water rushing up around him. “Okay, but I am literally diving right in- no hello, how are you’s for the family, not before I clean off.”

Harry pouts. “That’s rude, you know.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

~

The kitchen smells amazing; there’s fresh bread in the oven and Harry’s leaning over the stove, whipping something up in a frying pan. Harry has a lot of work to do for this weekend, as he’s rented a food stall in the park during Edwardsville Days and, more importantly, he’s entered the bake off on Saturday morning. He’s determined to win this year, to beat Mrs. Payne- perennial champion- at her own game.

All that baking has meant that he’s been over every day for the last week, but that he’s hasn’t yet allowed Louis to tear him away from the kitchen.

When Louis opens the door to fridge, as quietly as possible (because God forbid he disturb or distract Harry from his work), Harry says, “You can have some of this if you want.”

Louis stalks over to him, puts his chin on his shoulder to peek into the pan and sniff. “Tacos!”

Harry nods and the motion brushes his stubble against Louis’ own. Louis is getting used to Harry, to all the ways he’s different from Louis’ girlfriends, his facial hair and his cock, yes, but also the way Harry smiles at Louis after he does the dishes or fixes a squeaky cabinet hinge. He acts as though Louis’ just given him a trip to the Bahamas instead of completed a mundane household chore.

Being in love, like, _really in love,_ is weird. But good weird.

“I needed a break from baking,” Harry explains. “And I was in the mood for Mexican.”

Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek and then steps back to begin to set the table. “We could have gone out.”

Tio’s is the probably the best restaurant within reasonable driving distance and Louis hasn’t had an excuse to eat there in ages.

“I thought you didn’t want to go out on a date with me,” Harry says as he moves over to the fridge and begins to pull out already made-up bowls of cheese and onions and salsa.

“We could go to Tio’s. We just couldn’t hold hands or kiss. Same as when we have dinner with our families or friends.” Louis doesn’t see what the problem is. It’s not easy, not the best situation, but it works.

They can pretend that nothing’s changed between them.

“Maybe I was in the mood for eating tacos _and_ playing footsie with you underneath the table.” Harry is dishing the taco meat into another bowl and Louis watches the twist of his wrist, the tilt of his head, the way one lock of his hair has formed an absolutely perfect curl which is resting on his shoulder, waiting for Louis to loop it over his finger and pull.

“What are you looking at?” Harry asks, walking past Louis to place the meat on the table. “Mesmerized by gobs of dead animal?”

Louis catches him around the middle and holds him tight in a hug. Harry melts into him, nose nuzzling against his ear, breath hot as he murmurs, “I love you.”

This is something they do, set aside little moments here and there to soak up the warmth of their feelings for each other.

It’s bad. Louis knows it’s bad because people who say “I love you” don’t just walk away from each other at the end of the summer and they don’t keep their relationship secret from all their friends and family.

So, even though the words wrap warm and tight and comforting around his heart right now, right here in the cozy, oven-warm kitchen, Louis knows that it’s all going to end badly.

Still, he says, “I love you, too.”

Harry continues to pull things out for the meal. Louis, who’s already sitting down, patiently waiting, keeps thinking Harry’s finished when he produces something else- homemade tortillas, sour cream, guacamole.

“Looks good,” Louis says.

Harry’s standing back, hands on his hips, surveying the table.

“I think you’ve got everything. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

Harry shakes his head. “I want to take a picture for Facebook. Cara was taunting me the other day about not being able to cook a real meal because all I ever post is sweets.”

Louis gestures to the spread. “Well, this is a real fucking meal.”

Harry pulls his phone out of his pocket and snaps a pic before sitting down to eat.

~

Louis watches baseball in the den for the remainder of the evening. He can hear Harry in the kitchen behind him, pulling out pots and running water and singing to himself. During a commercial, curious, Louis checks Facebook on his phone to see the picture, see if Cara appreciates Harry’s expertise for what it is.

(She probably will. After all, she’s been pursuing him the whole damn summer.)

Except that the picture he finds on Harry’s wall shows the meal, yes, but that’s not its focus. Its focus is Louis, hair greasy from a long day’s work without a shower, arms over his chest, soft smile on his face as he waits for Harry to finish whatever the fuck he’s doing so that they can finally eat.

Louis swallows. It seems intimate, revealing more than a trip to Tio’s would’ve, probably.

Lots of people have liked it, a few even commenting. The first comment is from his own mom. _“I’m glad someone’s feeding him real meals.”_

Harry’s already liked her words and replied, _“You’re welcome.”_

No one suggests anything raunchy, so Louis supposes it’s all right. There really wasn’t anything raunchy going on- just a boy cooking another boy, _his friend_ , dinner.

They don’t _know_ that they’re boyfriends, too, of course. That’s why they’re being so nice. But for a moment, Louis lets himself imagine that they- his mom, Cara, and everyone else- _do know_ and that they react to Harry’s picture in the exact same way.

His heart aches.

That imaginary world is one in which Harry might actually want to stay, a world in which Louis, as much of a fuck-up as he is, might be enough.

But that is not the world they live in and Harry will realize it soon, maybe even before he has to leave for Chicago. Louis clicks the phone screen blank.

~

Harry’s still in the kitchen a couple hours later when Louis comes out of his baseball watching haze to grab a cup of water before bed.

“It’s almost midnight, babe,” Louis says.

Harry’s sitting on the counter facing the oven and reading something on his phone. He blinks up at Louis. “Yeah, I know. Just one more batch after this.”

“Don’t work too hard.” Louis walks over and presses a kiss to his lips.

Harry fists the front of Louis’ shirt, pulling him closer and turning the kiss dirty. Louis gasps when Harry pulls back and then pushes him away. With a smirk, Harry says, “I thought you were going to bed.”

Louis licks his lips. “Come with me,” he says.

Harry’s mouth turns down and he nods toward the oven. “I’ve really got to finish this.”

Louis tries to pout, and Harry laughs.

“Goodnight, Lou,” he says.

“Goodnight,” Louis replies. “I love you.”

Louis’ still awake a little while later, when Harry slips into bed beside him.

“You didn’t leave?”

Harry stills, “No. Is that okay?”

Louis moves to him, pulling him close, Harry’s back to his front so he’s little spoon, just like he likes. As he speaks, his lips brush against the hair on the nape of Harry’s neck. “Yes. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” Harry whispers back.

But Louis knows he will and squeezes him tighter still.

~

Harry’s in the barn shooting hoops when Louis pulls into the drive. He’s not making any of them. His form is shit, even after all these years, but he’s wearing his determined face, which is a sign he hasn’t given up hope. Louis cuts the engine and hops down from his truck.

“You win yet?”

“I always win,” Harry shouts back. “I’m lucky.”

The next basket he shoots is all net and he turns to beam proudly at Louis.

Louis shakes his head and goes to retrieve the ball from where it’s rolled up against the wall on the other side of the barn. He dribbles it a few times as he saunters toward Harry who spreads his arms wide.

“No easy buckets,” Harry tells him, lifting his chin.

“Not for you, anyway,” Louis replies, aiming and shooting right over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry doesn’t quite bat it down, but he comes close and it hits the backboard and bounces off instead of going in.

Harry waggles his eyebrows and then, at the same time, they both run for the ball.

Louis reaches it first, but Harry’s long arms stretch out. Louis thinks he’s going for the ball, but instead he wraps them around Louis’ waist and hauls him backward.

Into Louis’ ear, he whispers, “Not today.”

Louis struggles free, wiggling out and underneath. He ducks for the ball and grabs it, but this time Harry’s more forceful, holding Louis fast and dragging him a couple of feet until he’s got him boxed in against the wall.

The ball drops out of Louis’ grip, bouncing against Harry’s foot and then rolling away. Louis doesn’t care, though, because he’s leaning up to bring their lips together.

All these years, Harry’d been right in front of him, happy, eager even, to kiss like this, to bring their hips together, to moan into Louis’ mouth. And Louis’d been too nervous, too scared to allow it.

The regret of all the lost moments they could have had just like this one would be heavy, if it weren’t for Harry’s tongue dipping into his mouth _right now_ and Harry’s dick pressing against his hip _right here_.

The real heaviness will come later, Louis knows, when Harry returns to Chicago.

But now, now he can do his best to enjoy the moment, to slide a hand up under Harry’s shirt and another into Harry’s hair. The glossy curls feel the same as they always have- it’s not like Louis’ interest in touching them is new- but the noise Harry makes when Louis pulls, that’s different, that has Louis pulling harder and arching toward him.

“Holy _shit_.”

Harry breaks away and steps back. Louis’ hands fall to his sides and his eyes travel to the door of the barn.

Holy shit is right.

It’s bright outside, still early evening, so the figure in the doorway is cast in shadow. Louis knows who it is though.

“Hello, Niall,” Harry greets, voice rough. He sounds like he’s in the middle having sex. _Fuck,_ he _was_ practically in the middle of having sex.

“Holy shit,” Niall says again. His face is turning red and he’s beginning to wheeze. “I’m gonna go.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry replies, walking stiffly over to pick the basketball up off the cement. “Louis invited you over for a game tonight, right?”

“That wasn’t basketball.”

“Yes, it was. I don’t know what you thought you saw, but it was definitely basketball,” Louis says, mind finally catching up to the situation at hand. Harry’s right, of course. He’d sent the text out on the group chat this morning. No one had responded, but _still_. Louis shouldn’t have fucking _forgotten_. And finding Harry in the barn shooting hoops should have been reminder enough. _What the fuck_.

Niall walks toward them and puts his hands out palms up. “It’s cool. Whatever. You guys are fine. And, of course, if anyone asks, you were absolutely playing basketball.”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “We _were_ playing basketball. I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Basket _balls_ ,” Harry snickers. It’s barely even a joke, but Louis finds himself snorting out a laugh, too.

Niall’s red as a ripe tomato, which, despite the circumstances, pleases Louis. “It’s not awkward for me, or anything. I just didn’t want to, like, interrupt, though I should let you know that Liam’s on his way over, too, so.”

Harry tosses the ball to Niall and he catches it with a huff. “Glad you’re cool with it, man.”

“Yeah. Wanna join the game next time?” Louis asks, feeling inspired. “Since it’s not awkward?”

Niall sputters out a laugh. It’s _definitely_ an awkward laugh. “Um…”

“Come on, Niall. I’ve seen you looking at my ass,” Harry presses.

Niall starts to giggle and shake his head. “No, you haven’t.” He’s laughing but he’s dead serious. He’s one of the only people Louis knows who can pull that shit off.

The gravel crunches outside. Liam’s arrived.

“We were playing basketball,” Louis says, pointing a finger at Niall.

Niall, still laughing and frowning at Harry, says, “Playing basketball. Okay.”

Louis can trust Niall. He knows he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: (not quite idyllic) first time anal sex, sexy times rudely interupted, angst about coming out, accidental outing, BUT ALSO DOMESTIC FLUFF


	7. August 2015 Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing this chapter really cheered me up. Enjoy! 
> 
> Spoilery chapter specific warnings at the end.

Louis is sitting next to Harry on the couch listening to the baseball commentators chat between innings and to Harry’s fingers tap away at the keys of his laptop. As Louis scrolls through twitter on his phone trying not to give into the temptation to read what Harry’s writing, his mom’s face pops up.

Standing up and stretching, he answers, “Hey mom.”

Harry looks up at him and smiles. He whispers, “Tell her I say ‘hi.’”

Louis nods and leans down to press the softest, quietest kiss he can manage onto Harry’s forehead. It’s bold, but, he tells himself, his mom has never had the best hearing. Straightening, he says, “Harry says ‘hi.’”

“Oh, tell him I say ‘hi’ back and actually, maybe, can you go into another room? That’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Louis’ stomach tenses and he flicks a piece of hair out of his eyes. “She says ‘hi’ back,” he calls over his shoulder as he moves into the kitchen.

When he gets there, he sits on top of the wooden table and rests his feet on seat of one of the matching wooden chairs. “What’s up? What don’t you want Harry to hear?”

“Oh, I guess it’s not a problem for him to hear. It’s just sort of awkward, you know?”

Louis does not know, so he only grunts into the phone.

“So I was hoping,” his mom begins, then stops. “Anne has asked-“

She stops again.

Louis’ hands are balled up in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. He needs her to _talk_. “Spill it, Mom.”

“You’re planning on being around for Edwardsville Days this weekend?”

“Where the hell else would I be?”

He shouldn’t swear at his mom. _Fuck._ But she’s driving him _nuts_ right now. He doesn’t want to have time to worry over what she could possibly be trying to tell him, not if it’s awkward and about Harry.

The phone stays quiet. She seems determined to draw this out.

“I can babysit for you and Dan, if you need. Robin’s not taking any jobs this weekend,” he says to the fill the silence.

“Oh no, no. The kids are all taken care of.”

“What’s going on?” Louis presses. “Is everything okay?”

His mom laughs. “Yeah, oh. Yeah. Everything is fine. Um. I don’t want to upset or offend you.” She pauses again. Always with the drama. “It’s just that Anne asked me if I wanted to walk with PFLAG in the parade.”

The line is silent for a moment.

“PFLAG?” Louis’ never heard of it. “Is that some sort of new business opening up downtown?”

“No, honey. It’s the group of- let me see if I can get this right- parents and friends of lesbians and gays… I think that’s it. Anyway, Anne’s president and this is the first year they’re walking in the parade- to celebrate the big win in the Supreme Court- and she’s just trying to get as many people as possible, especially big, strong manly men like yourself. It’ll be safer that way and cooler, you know?”

Louis isn’t sure how to respond.

“Louis? What do you think? Will you walk with us, too?”

“I, um. I don’t know.”

He knows he doesn’t want to walk with them. He feels nauseous thinking about it. But he doesn’t know how to say ‘no’ to his mom without giving himself away. He doesn’t know how to say ‘no’ to his mom, period.

“You’re not, like? I mean obviously you’re okay with this stuff- with Harry being… you know. Aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m okay with Harry. How could you- I love him.” And fuck if Louis’ mouth isn’t going to be the death of him. He adds, “He’s been my best friend since I was a little kid.”

“I know. Of course, you’re fine with him, honey. I’m sorry; I just thought you might want to support him, you know, show him that you’re there for him, even when the rest of the world is against him.”

Louis sighs. He does want that, of course. But the thought of supporting him by carrying a rainbow flag, or even just walking beside one, for their whole town to see really does make him feel a little sick.

“I’ll think about it.”

“I know you’re worried about people thinking that way about you.”

Her voice is firm, certain. She thinks she knows him so well, and, he supposes in some ways she does. She’s right about this.

But at the same time, she’s also very, very wrong.

“I’m not worried about that,” he lies.

“I know you are, especially with the way people have started to talk.”

Louis’ hands ball up into fists again. “What?”

“With him practically living at the farmhouse, people are saying that you two might be, well, you know what they’re saying, honey.”

Louis hops down from the counter, pacing toward the door. “What are they saying? And who, who is saying?”

“Well for one, Lottie. She is sure you two are, um, engaged in… relations.”

“Engaged in relations?” Louis takes a deep breath. “Are we in the eighteenth century? Anyway, Lottie has no idea what she’s talking about.”

“That’s what I told her. If you felt that way about men, you and Harry would’ve gotten together a lot sooner. And obviously, um, you don’t feel like, you know, that. You dated Eleanor and Hannah.”

And that, that is exactly why sometimes Louis feels like she doesn’t know him at all.

Louis sighs.

“Will you march with us? Please, Louis? You don’t have to hold a sign or cheer or anything. It’d just be nice for people to see a straight, upstanding young man supporting the cause.”

“Isn’t Dan going to march?”

“Louis. This isn’t about Dan.” Of fucking course Dan isn’t marching. He’s probably on vacation somewhere exotic. Without his family. “You should do this for Harry.”

“I’ll think about it,” Louis says. He’ll think about finding an excuse is what he’ll do.

“Good.” His mom’s voice is thick with satisfaction. She clearly thinks she’s won. Hell, in almost every other circumstance, she would’ve.

He hates disappointing her more than anything else in the world.

Which is why there’s no way in hell he can go.

~

Louis goes to the bathroom and throws a little water on his face before returning to the den. Harry’s still typing away at his computer when Louis sits down beside him. The announcers for the baseball are grumpy now due to an inevitable loss and Louis mutes the television.

“Good news, huh?” Harry asks, closing his computer.

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and nods. “Always is with my mom, don’t you know?” Cool lips press against his forehead.

“She wants me to march with that gay organization your mom is head of, whatsit called? PGLAD?”

Harry stiffens. “For Edwardsville Days?”

Louis nods. “Are you marching?”

Harry shrugs. “I haven’t decided. My mom invited me to and I kind of want to, but Robin thinks it’s a bad idea, that I’d be making myself a target. As if I’m not already a target…”

“He’s right,” Louis says. “Walking down Main Street with a rainbow flag or whatever, like you’re not asking for it, but you are definitely making a spectacle of yourself. So…”

Harry sighs. “I don’t think anyone is gonna do anything. They all know me. They all _love_ me.”

“That’s true. They do love you. Probably, you’d be fine. But, yeah. I’m with Robin. If you decide to walk, I’ll go with you,” Louis decides, putting a hand over his roiling stomach. “For protection.”

Harry laughs. “Don’t you think that you’ll be putting yourself at risk?”

“Everyone knows about me and Eleanor,” Louis says. “And, like…” He trails off, thinking about what his mother had said about people ‘talking,’ about Lottie being so damn sure that he and Harry were ‘having relations.’

“Yeah, people don’t really think much about bisexuality. That’s what you are, right? Bisexual? Or, like, Pan?”

Louis sits up to look at him. “I’m not a cooking instrument, no.”

“No, like Pansexual. You don’t really care about gender stuff, you just like who you like, no matter their identity or, um, equipment.”

Louis frowns. He’s never thought about labeling himself before. “I mean, I like _you._ ”

Harry laughs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to figure it out now, or ever, I guess. I’m gay, though. I like _men_.”

Louis bats his eyelashes and adopts his ‘Will’ voice. “You like ‘em rugged and daring, eh?”

“I like _you._ ”

Louis licks his lips and, unbidden, the conversation he’d had with his mom pops back up in his mind. “I’m surprised my mom is marching. I didn’t know she even thought about this stuff.”

Suddenly, Louis wants to ask her about it, if she is _really, actually_ okay with gay people or whatever, but he isn’t sure he’s ready for her answer, either way.

Harry kisses him again and this time his lips linger on Louis’ skin. “Your mom loves me,” he says.

Louis laughs. “She really does, probably wishes you were straight. You’d make a great fifth husband.”

“Seriously? You think so?” Harry asks, brows arching.

Is Louis serious that his mom is interested in Harry? No, _thank god_. But Louis _is_ serious that Harry will make _someone_ a good husband. Harry will no doubt be the best husband- beautiful and supportive and capable and _sexy._

But he can’t find it in him to admit all that, so instead he leans in for a long, deep kiss.

~

They aren’t a part of the Parade; the don’t walk with PFLAG nor do they ride in Robin’s Paint Co. truck nor do they march with Sophia and Liam and Dale and the Lake County Sheriff’s Department. But they have a good excuse. Harry’s booth for Stylin’ Sweets is in the park fifty yards off the parade route and so the customers don’t let up, even as the parade go-ers begin to line-up.

Louis is keeping Harry company and helping him run the cashbox in exchange for chocolate chip cookies and glimpses of his dimples.

“Not these ones, Lou. I’ll make you your own batch after,” Harry tells him (not for the first time), grabbing for the plastic wrapped cookie out of his hand.

The parade has already begun and Harry’s comment is mostly drowned out by the drums of the Glen River marching band, so Louis unwraps the cookie anyway and takes a bite.

“You’re a top rate employee, Louis. I should hire you on permanently,” Harry mutters. “Really careful with the product.”

Louis pays him no mind, instead focusing on Fizzy who’s playing the french horn. She looks utterly miserable in her band costume and Louis remembers her threatening to quit when she found out there was no way around wearing the hat. It’s an expensive hat, too. Louis’ mom probably would’ve let her quit, except that was around the time Dan showed up with a loaded bank account, ready to buy his way into the family.

After the band, it’s Lottie’s father in-law Jim’s drywall business and then, after him, the Lyon’s Club clowns, tossing mints out into the crowd.

Louis feels Harry’s body tense up beside him when the rainbows come into view.

“It’s okay,” he says reaching over to pat Harry’s thigh. Louis was saying exactly the opposite the night before, panicking about how if they didn’t march now, everyone would know and Robin would lose clients and people would start to boycott Harry’s business as well as all the businesses associated with his.

But in front of them, a group of high school aged kids cheer and then down the street, another group, tourists, Louis thinks, starts whooping.

“They’re doing a really great thing,” Harry whispers.

“You’re mom’s a rockstar,” Louis replies because he’s right and Louis knows that Harry’s mom is at the heart of it all. “She really knows you and really loves you.”

A group of four retirees is walking up to the booth and they look around to see where all the noise is coming from before turning back to the booth with a shake of their heads. When they greet Harry and Louis, they say, “Well, isn’t that nice. Don’t expect to see that kind of thing up here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks.

The woman who’s spoken looks at him for a moment, brown penciled brows drawing up almost underneath her sunhat. “You know how conservative places like this are - always voting Republican, so concerned about the Bible. Would’ve thought that group would’ve gotten more ‘boos,’ you know? I would’ve guessed it’d be _dangerous_ for them.”

The _fuck?_ He’d already guessed these people weren’t from around here, but _shit._

“I think you’d find a lot more forward thinking people around here than you would in your old folks home.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest.

They’re probably not old or sick enough to need be in a home. He hopes they think he thinks they are, anyway. Assholes.

“Would you like a cookie?” Harry asks. “Maybe some fudge?”

“A couple of cookies would be lovely,” a different woman says, voice lilting dramatically on the last word. She’s wearing sunglasses, a wide brimmed hat, and a chunky red and yellow necklace.

The first woman says, “I suppose you boys live around here, then?”

Louis puts an arm around Harry and juts his chin out. “Yeah, we do. Harry and I grew up here.”

Her eyes dart between them. “Oh,” she says. “I see. I guess it’s good that people are so accepting.”

Louis drops his arm. “No, I mean...”

Harry laughs. He’s exchanging money with the other woman. “It _is_ a good thing.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just my son is, um, like you two, so I think about these things.”

Louis first instinct is to challenge her, to question her- _how is he like us? Is he in his twenties? Brown haired? Owns a bakery business?_ \- even though he absolutely knows what she’s implying.

“It’s good to have a mom who’s supportive. I know he appreciates that. My mom was one of the marchers,” Harry tells her.

“My mom, too,” Louis hears himself say. It’s true, even if he wouldn’t describe his mom as supportive.

Fuck, these strangers know about him and Harry and she _doesn’t_.

The other woman cuts in, “It’s so nice to have met you boys. We’ve got be heading out. Have a lovely afternoon.” She puts an arm around her friend’s shoulder and directs her to a picnic table in the shade where their companions have made themselves comfortable.

~

Liam’s badge shines in the sunlight and Dale can’t seem to take his eyes off it. He’s sitting on Louis’ metal folding chair and studiously munching one of Harry’s cookies, while Sophia ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s at the few new items Harry’s stocked for the weekend.

“What kind of fruit is in this fudge? Cherries?” she asks. Harry immediately lights up and begins to describe the process of choosing exactly the right brand of dried cherry.

Liam’s scanning the park- he’s on duty this afternoon. Louis thinks he’s less worried about mischief than he is about his boss catching him chilling with his family instead of looking stern and pulling over locals for speeding around corners on narrow backwoods roads.

“You look sharp,” Louis tells him.

He meets Louis’ eyes and straightens his shoulders. “My uniform got ironed this morning. I’m feeling really good about it.”

Louis chuckles. “Ah, the benefits of having a wife.”

“Are you kidding me? Sophia doesn’t know how to iron. I did this myself.” Liam’s brows are drawn together and he huffs out a breath, running a hand down his cloth on his chest.

“Daddy taught me to use the iron,” Dale pipes in. “And drive the police car. And turn on the siren.”

Louis grins at him and reaches over to wipe the crumbs falling down his shirt.

“That’s a losing battle, bro,” Liam says.

Louis ignores him, keeping his focus on Dale. “You got to march in the parade, didn’t you?”

Dale shakes his head. “I didn’t march. I got to ride in the fire truck.”

“Even better.” Louis beams at him.

Dale nods. “The firemen had a dog.”

“We should get a dog,” Harry says, popping into the conversation. “For the Farmhouse. It’s lonely without the goats. Maybe we should get _goats_.”

Louis stares at him. “‘ _We’_ should get a dog. Look at you, moving into my house and adopting animals with me. I thought you lived in _Chicago._ ”

Harry dimples and shrugs. Then, more firmly this time, he says, “We should get goats. They’d do a better job of mowing the lawn than you.”

“What lawn? We don’t-” Louis begins.

“Uncle Harry,” Dale says, cutting in, a hint of a whine behind his voice. “Can I have another cookie?”

Harry raises a brow. “I don’t know. Mom, can he have another cookie?”

Sophia sighs. “Oh, why not? It’s Edwardsville Days.”

Louis gives Dale a high five and then unwraps another cookie for each of them.

“You’re probably not going to make any money with these two around,” Liam says. He looks like he’s thinking about writing Louis a ticket for stealing. Fucking cops.

“Actually,” Harry says. “I’ve brought in quite a profit over the summer. I mean, it’s not going to pay all the bills, not yet. But it’s definitely a lot more than I had hoped. If only I had a rich husband to support me, I could do this forever...”

“If only,” Louis sighs.

He meets Harry’s eyes and Harry bites his lip, face soft. Louis- _fuck_ \- he wishes he could be that rich husband. He thinks Harry wants that, too.

_For now_ , Louis tacks on. Harry will eventually go back to Chicago where there are lots of high powered, handsome, already rich men (like Nick) who’d be happy to be Harry’s supportive husband. They both _know_ that, of course.

“Oh my! Is that Lara!” Sophia is frowning and squinting past Louis and Liam.

Beside her, Harry looks like he is about to burst out of his skin, eyes wide, chin forward.

“She has the baby! _She has the baby._ ”

Louis turns around. He can’t pick Lara out of the crowd- she’s a tiny thing- but he shouts anyway. “Horan! Get over here! We want to meet your spawn.”

That’s when he sees her. She’s carrying the _tiny_ baby on her chest, sleeping face forward with Niall trailing beside her carrying a bright pink baby bag.

When they arrive at the booth, Harry says, “I thought you were having a boy.” He’s leaning over the table and down in to look at the baby strapped to Lara’s chest, even as he speaks.

“I thought you didn’t approve of gender norms,” Niall says. “This is my nephew Theodore.”

“I don’t.” Harry grins. “I like his purse.”

Lara sighs. She has dark marks under her eyes and her hair is uncharacteristically greasy, not that Louis’d ever tell her that. “It’s a hand me down. The strap on the one we’d gotten at the shower broke the other day.”

“He’s perfect,” Harry says. “Can I hold him?”

Lara puts a hand on the baby’s stomach and eyes the fudge. “He’s just fallen asleep. I’d rather not jostle him.”

“Do you think when he wakes up, he’d like some cherry fudge?” Harry asks, already cutting a wedge from the sample loaf and wrapping it in wax paper.

“I’m sure _Theo_ would _love_ it,” Lara says, grabbing for it. “He’ll nurse it right out of me.”

That startles a laugh out of Harry and Sophia.

“God, I want another one,” Sophia says, reaching for Liam’s hand. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

Dale says, “I want a baby brother.”

“Me, too,” Harry says. “I mean, I want a baby, a family.”

“Gotta find a girl first,” Lara says. “I’m sure that can’t be too hard.” She winks at Harry.

Louis coughs and Liam hums.

“Maybe,” Harry answers, rubbing at his temple.

~

Cara and Kendall approach the booth in the late afternoon, holding hands and laughing. Kendall’s wearing a black sundress and big black straw sun hat. Cara’s rainbow tie-dye tee shirt clashes with the blue flannel she’s wearing over it, but she looks as happy as Louis’ ever seen her.

Of course, she does. It’s Edwardsville Days.

“Hi guys!” Cara says, picking up a cookie and unwrapping it without asking or paying.

“Hey,” Harry replies, not stopping her. He’s _way_ too generous, in Louis’ opinion. “How was the PFLAG group?”

Cara waggles her eyebrows. “Your mom is something special. So fun to march with. She’d made up all these chants. You’d never believe it but Kendall was singing her ass off.”

Louis huffs out a breath. She’s really trying to win Harry over by making friends with his mother, _the president of PFLAG_. Louis has never met anyone so fucking _dense_.

“Were you gonna ask him…?” Kendall murmurs to Cara and nods at Harry.

“Oh, _yeah_! We’re definitely going to Chicago this fall. Kendall’s mom will put the security deposit down on whatever apartment we find. So…” She shrugs and rolls up onto her toes. “Like, I thought we could coordinate, maybe we could even crash at your place while we find our own? When are you planning on going back?”

Kendall nods at Louis and with a soft smile she asks, “Are you gonna come, too?”

Louis frowns at her. “No…” Though, now, he kind of wishes he was. Cara’s pursuit of Harry is hilarious to watch.

Cara shakes her head. “I can not stay here any more. My dad preached against ‘the gays’ _again_ last Sunday. Like, do you think he _realizes_?”

“Realizes what?” Louis asks.

Harry and Cara and Kendall all laugh. Cara’s laughter sounds sort of sad.

“What?” Louis doesn’t _think_ he’s the butt of whatever joke they’re sharing, but doesn’t like being out of the loop.

Cara shakes her head and swallows. “Yeah. Probably not. I don’t know if that’s any better.”

Kendall grabs her hand again and sticking her chin out, says, “My mom loves you.”

That’s when it clicks for Louis.

Fuck.

They’re _dating_.

Of _course_ , they are.

He looks between them and doesn’t know what to say.

~

As the sun goes down, Louis loads up the few remaining goodies into Harry’s jeep, which they’d driven into town together. Then, he helps Harry take down the tent and fold up the table and return them to the Congregational Church Harry’s mom attends on occasion.

When they hop back into the jeep, shirts sticky with sweat, Harry asks, “Do you have plans for the fireworks?”

Louis’ mom had texted to tell him that Dan- who was miraculously in town for once- had put the sailboat into Edward’s Lake and that they’d be happy to come pick him up at the marina and feed him dinner.

But the logistics had seemed complicated and, also, his mom is probably eager to talk about the parade and PFLAG, so he’d texted back that he’d already made plans, which, of course, he hadn’t.

Now, Louis is thinking about Cara and Kendall and Harry in Chicago and about how wistfully Harry’d said he wanted a dog and goats and a baby. Louis doesn’t really want their evening to end yet.

So he’s not really sad to say, “They left me behind, again.”

Harry reaches over and squeezes his thigh. “Good. You can watch with me. I have an idea.”

Louis smiles at him.“Okay,” he agrees. Even though he’d been counting on the invitation, the way Harry leans close to say it and the grin on his face as he does so, sends a little flutter of happiness through Louis.

Harry’s driveway is filled with cars when they arrive. “Gemma’s home and Mom has a few friends over from PFLAG, I guess. She really wanted me to meet them. Earlier in the summer she kept hinting that one of them had a son that was right about my age.”

“Well, fuck that,” Louis hisses.

Harry chuckles. “I guess you don’t want to go in then.”

“I will if that’s what you want,” Louis replies, but his stomach is turning over at the thought.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “I mean, I want to meet them at some point. It’d be great to know more people in Lake County who, like, _get it_. But that doesn’t have to happen tonight. Anyway, my idea was to skip out on the party and have our own, like, _romantic_ party on the pontoon. If we lay down…”

Louis meets his eyes and licks his lips. “I see where you’re going with this and I like it.”

They make their way down the hill, through the yard and out onto the dock as quickly and quietly as they can. Louis’ flip-flops smack softly, though, and with each thwap he’s tempted to turn around and see if someone’s onto them.

He does look back up to the house when they reach the pontoon, but they’re still alone and Harry tugs his arm, pulling him to lay down on the plastic carpeting of the boat.

It’s a little gross, covered in dirt and seaweed and old food, but before he has a chance to really take it in, Harry’s rolling onto his side to press his mouth against Louis’.

The sky has turned from pink to bluish grey above them and when Louis opens his eyes again, pulling back from a long, _long_ kiss, it’s darkened to navy.

“They should start soon,” he whispers.

“I hate fireworks,” Harry says.

Louis already knows this, of course- Anne loves to tell how Harry’d hidden in his room under a pile of blankets and pillows every Edwardsville Days and Fourth of July until he was ten years old- but he’d forgotten.

“That’s right. Babe. This was a really fucking dumb date idea,” he tells Harry, reaching over to touch his cheek. “It’s not romantic to watch fireworks if fireworks make you shit your pants.”

“I wish we lived on the other side of the lake. I don’t think it’s as loud over there,” Harry says.

“Harry. Sound carries over water. How long have you lived on this lake? Oh, that’s right. Your whole damn life.” Louis reaches over to wrap a hand around Harry’s wrist, meaning to pull him up.

“No, I want to watch,” Harry protests, wrenching free from Louis’ grip. “I missed Fourth of July and Edwardsville Days the last couple of years. I miss this.”

“You miss this?! You hate this!”

Harry winces at the first explosion and then sighs as the blue and green sparks fizzle through the night sky.

“Quiet this year,” Harry says.

It’s not really quiet, of course, and Louis rolls over to kiss his temple.

“You’re a masochist,” Louis tells him.

“I am,” Harry agrees.

An umbrella of sparking white erupts above them and it’s followed by an even deeper, louder _boom_. The thrum of it buzzes pleasantly through Louis’ limbs, but Harry’s frown is darkening, eyebrows pulled together above it.

“Speaking of,” Harry says. “You should tie me up and spank me.”

“Right now?” Louis asks, his question punctuated by the squeal and thump of another firework. This time Harry doesn’t wince.

“Well, you should at least kiss me,” Harry tells him. “Hard.”

Louis leans in to capture Harry’s lips and slide his hands up under Harry’s shirt. Harry tastes like one of his chocolate chip cookies. Louis hadn’t seen him sneak any, but he must’ve.

Harry’s hand slips into Louis’ jeans and covers his bare ass.

Against Louis’ lips, he murmurs. “No underwear. I like it.”

Louis turns the kiss dirty, adding a little tongue, then a little teeth. When he pulls back they’re both panting. “Just for you.”

Harry’s voice is barely a rumble. “So fucking hot.” His finger slips between Louis’ crack, ghosting over his hole and Louis’ gasps, mouth open and wet against Harry’s jaw.

He’s fully hard against Harry’s leg and he can feel Harry, equally hard, against his own hip. They begin to rut in earnest with the sky exploding above them.

~

“Best fireworks ever,” Harry whispers, after they’ve both come. “Let’s do this _every year._ ”

They’re laying side by side, catching their breath. The night is loud. The village’s fireworks have ended, but Harry’s neighbors are setting off bottle rockets and their dogs are going wild.

Louis strains his neck to look down at their bodies. “You can _totally_ tell what we’ve been up to. No way in hell are we going to that party now.”

Harry reaches down to pat gently at the wet spot on the front of Louis’ jeans, brushing up against his far too sensitive dick and Louis winces

“It’s dark; no one will notice.”

“Yeah, not inside your house, it’s not dark,” Louis retorts.

Harry laughs. “Okay, fine. We’ll go straight back to the jeep and pull off before anyone knows we were here.”

“Good plan,” Louis says, even though it’s literally the only option they have.

He sits up and then so does Harry, curls falling into his face, and suddenly Louis’ not ready to leave anymore, not ready for this moment to end. He leans in for another kiss that Harry melts into with a happy hum.

Louis’ heart aches, _again,_ with the knowledge that they’d wasted so much time, so many years not doing this. God, he’s been so stupid.

When they pull apart, Harry hops to his feet and offers Louis a hand, tugging him up. “Thanks for coming out here with me,” Harry says, as if Louis’ done him a favor.

Louis laughs. “You’re the one who did something you hate in the name of romance. I should be thanking you.”

Harry nods. “Good point. You should be.”

Louis licks his lips and turns back to the shore. He wants to hold Harry’s hand as they walk, but he doesn’t want the neighbors to see, so he looks over to check if they’re still out on their own dock.

Except that when he turns around, it’s the not neighbors he notices first, but a bonfire in Harry’s yard and the knot people of gathered at the shore end of Harry’s own dock.

“Shit,” he says. “Fuck. Harry.”

Louis stomach knots immediately. There’s no way to avoid it. He and Harry had been out here on the pontoon _lying down_ to watch the fireworks and now they’re coming back with incriminating evidence of their _shared orgasms_ on the fronts of their pants. On top of which, all these people _know_ that Harry, at least, is gay.

“Fuck,” he says again.

“It’s fine. No one cares,” Harry says. “Anyway, most of these people know you. They’ll think we were just hanging out, you know?”

Louis looks down. Even in the dim light of the moon, there’s no mistaking the wet spot on the front of Harry’s khaki shorts.

Harry follows Louis’ gaze and then giggles. “I guess that’s pretty noticeable.”

“You fuckin’ think?” Louis asks, immediately regretting the bitterness in his tone.

“Harry? Louis?” That’s Gemma calling for them. She sounds happy and Louis realizes he hasn’t seen her all summer. She’d missed all the family festivities earlier in the month and Loius’d missed her. They’d been in the same class at school, been on Student Council together, and gotten along pretty well.

“I have a plan,” Harry drawls. He reaches out and grasps Louis’ shirt.

Louis pulls away. “Well, get fucking working on it, then.”

He regrets that statement a moment later when Harry pushes him, fully clothed, into the lake.

Louis comes up sputtering. “Fuck you,” he gasps, grabbing Harry’s ankles.

Harry steps back and then leans over, offering Louis a hand. He whispers, “Now, you pull me in.”

“You fucking bet I’m pulling you in, you asshole,” Louis spits back, dragging him down into the water. When he comes up, Louis continues, “I hate soggy jeans. Fucking _hell,_ Harry.”

Harry shrugs, sloshing through the water toward shore and waving to his sister. “Covers up the spot, which is what you were worried about.”

“We were still out on your boat, laying down watching fireworks, _my God_ , Harry. People aren’t stupid. And now my jeans are sticking to my thighs.” He groans for emphasis.

“You sound like Dale,” Harry says.

Louis shuts up.

“Hey, Louis,” Gemma says. She’s holding a beer and waiting for them when they heave themselves up on the grass. “I would give you a hug, but…”

“I understand. Your brother is a dick,” Louis tells her.

“Hey, you were asking for it,” Harry protests.

“Can’t believe you got him to watch fireworks!” Gemma exclaims. “Do you want a beer?”

Louis doesn’t want a beer. Louis wants to get out of here before too many people notice him and, more than that, he wants out of these fucking jeans. They were tight to begin with. _Fuck_.

“That’d be great,” Harry says. “You got any Miller Light for Louis?”

Louis whirls to look at him.

“Maybe I feel a little bad about pushing you into the lake. Wouldn’t want to make you drink a Bud, or, God forbid, a Coors, after that ordeal.”

Gemma laughs and they make their way over to the cooler. It’s right between Anne and Robin’s beach chairs beside the fire. There’s three or four other couples out here with them and Louis thinks he recognizes a few faces, but he doesn’t want to look too closely or make eye contact.

He needs to figure out how to leave without drawing attention to himself or upsetting Harry.

“I’m surprised you two still have clothes on,” Anne says, opening the cooler.

Louis freezes.

“Mom,” Harry says, voice pitching high.

Robin chokes.

So much for being discreet. What. The. Fuck.

“I mean because you like to skinny dip. Did you think…? I would not talk about your sex life, kid. There are some things a mom just doesn’t need to know about her son.”

When Louis, still frozen, does not reach in for a beer, Anne pulls one out and hands it to him.

“Mom,” Harry groans.

Gemma cackles, she’s made her way to the other side of the fire and dropped into an empty chair.

“I think,” Louis says. “I have to go up to the house and change. Or something.”

He’s not one to retreat, usually. But this is too much. He sets the beer back in the cooler and heads up the hill.

Behind him he hears Harry say, “Oh my god, mom. Why did you just do that? We talked about this…”

Another voice- one that Louis doesn’t recognize- pipes in, “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone, Harry. Is that the kid who works with you, Robin? Jay’s boy, right?”

Louis picks up speed, so he doesn’t have to hear anymore.

It’s clear that Harry’s mom knows about them. Robin, too, probably. Louis’d given Harry permission to tell.

God, what do they think of him? They’re obviously okay with the whole gay thing, but they must think Louis is a terrible boyfriend for their son, that he’s a coward. And maybe he fucking is.

He closes himself in the bathroom, turns the shower on hot, pulls off his soggy clothes, steps under the steam, and tries to stop thinking.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice carries through the door and over the water. He must be shouting.

“What?” Louis calls back, not nearly loud enough for Harry to hear, probably.

“Louis?” Harry calls again, bursting into the bathroom.

Louis pulls back the curtain. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Louis. I didn’t know she’d be so awkward about it.” Harry’s pulling his clothes off, his shirt, his khaki shorts, his boxers, dropping down to pool on the blue tiles of the bathroom floor.

Realizing it’s hanging open, Louis closes his mouth. Then he says, “Are you trying to make it worse right now?”

Harry climbs into the shower and wraps his arms around Louis, angling their bodies so that they’re both under the hot spray.

“I love you. I’m sorry.” He says these words against Louis’ cheek. “I didn’t know she’d be like that.”

“She knows, though?” Louis asks. His hands are running through Harry’s hair, tugging loose the wet tangles, but Louis doesn’t feel like he’s the one controlling them.

“Of course she knows, Lou. You told her sister. And you told me I could tell her.” Harry mutters the words and Louis has to listen closely and pull them apart to understand them.

“I know I did. I know. Fuck. Do you think she’s told my mom?” Louis asks.

“I don’t think she’s told anyone, except maybe Robin,” Harry replies. There’s a soft whine behind his voice.

Louis is quiet for a moment, relaxing into Harry’s embrace.

“And all those people, just now,” Louis adds.

“No,” Harry says. “I told everyone down there you weren’t my boyfriend or anything.”

Louis’ eyes sting. He’s crying. He pulls Harry closer, burying his face in Harry’s wet hair, to hide his tears. It’s no use, though, because when he opens his mouth, meaning to tell Harry that he didn’t have to do that, that Louis doesn’t care what they think, that maybe he _wants_ them to know, he instead lets out an ugly sob.

“Lou,” Harry says. “It’s okay. It’s the PFLAG crew around that bonfire. Even if they didn’t believe me, they’re really not going to tell anyone or think any less of you.”

“They’ll think less of me,” Louis says.

“They will not,” Harry replies firmly.

“For being a coward, I mean,” Louis says, voice rough. He’s glad they’re in the shower, after all. The rush of water will cover up the broken sound of his words, so that anyone walking by or waiting outside won’t hear what they’re saying.

“You’re not a coward, Lou,” Harry says. He’s now covering Louis’ face with kisses. “You’re not a coward. You’re one of the least cowardly people I know.”

“Not about this, though,” Louis insists because he is.

“You’re not a coward,” Harry repeats.

“I am,” Louis replies again. He’s almost shouting.

Harry lets go of him. “If you’re so worried about being brave, why don’t you _do something,_ then? Why don’t you tell your mom?!”

Louis leans his forehead against the tile wall and sobs. Through his tears, he says, “I can’t, Harry. I can’t.”

Harry kisses his shoulders. “I know you can’t,” he murmurs. “It’s fine.”

But Louis can tell that it isn’t.

There’s a knock on the door.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to pee.” Gemma’s voice penetrates the shower’s steam and Louis’ haze of self-pity. “Can I just come in?”

The plastic curtain is almost transparent. If they let her in she’ll be able to see the outline of their bodies through it. Louis shakes his head.

“One minute,” Harry tells her.

He reaches over and turns off the water. “You okay?” he whispers.

Louis nods, even though he’s not.

They towel off quickly and hustle into Harry’s bedroom. Gemma’s disappeared from sight and Harry bangs a fist on the door of her bedroom as they pass. “We’re out.”

“You better have cleaned up after yourselves,” she calls back.

And Louis has bite back another sob at her words.

He drops his towel and burrows under the blankets on Harry’s bed, cosy and clean and rich with Harry’s scent. Harry follows suit, tucking himself around Louis’ body, so that they both fit on the tiny mattress.

“Let’s stay here tonight,” Harry murmurs. “I don’t want to go back out there and I don’t think you do, either.”

Louis sighs. “Your bed is really small.”

“A great excuse to cuddle all night,” Harry replies, pressing his nose into Louis’ neck.

Louis swallows. “Alright.”

“I love you, no matter what,” Harry whispers.

“I love you, too,” Louis says immediately. “Even though I don’t want to tell people. Please know that it’s not because I don’t love you.”

He needs this to be clear to Harry, so he says it again. “I love you so much.”

“Not more than I love you,” Harry teases, voice bright, clearly trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.

“Yes, I do,” Louis replies, and he means it. He’s _sure_ he loves Harry more because he doesn’t think it’s possible for anyone to love anyone else as much as he loves Harry. The feeling is so big, so overwhelming- if Harry felt anything close to it, well. Well, Louis would know.

Harry hums his disagreement. Then he says, “I know you were just, like, having a moment. But, if you love me so much, maybe um…” He trails off.

“Yes, Harry,” Louis replies, rolling over. “I’ll be the big spoon.”

Harry moans happily and scoots to press his back firmly against Louis’ front. “This feels right,” he says.

Louis agrees. This does feel right.

“Don’t leave,” Louis says.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry replies. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

~

Louis’d forgotten that Harry’s bedroom faces east. The filmy white curtains Anne’s hung from his windows do nothing to obscure the early morning light streaming in and onto Louis’ face.

He cracks open an eye to see Harry up on one elbow leaning over him. “Hey, angel,” Harry whispers.

Louis closes his eye again. “Nope. Not an angel. Not this early.”

Harry runs his free hand over Louis’ stomach. “Wakey-wakey eggs and bakey.”

Louis opens both his eyes. “Really?”

Harry shrugs his bare shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just wanted you to wake up.”

Louis sighs and closes his eyes again. Last night was messy. He doesn’t want to deal with Harry’s family this morning.

“Hey,” Harry says.

Louis keeps his eyes closed. “If you don’t want to sleep, get out of the bed.”

“Heeeyyy,” Harry drags out the word.

Louis can’t believe himself. He open his eyes one more time. “What?”

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Early bird gets the worm.”

“What?”

Harry arches his hips and Louis feels Harry’s cock, already hard, push against his own hip. He takes in a breath. He’s hard, too. He’s always hard in the morning, but he was planning on ignoring it today.

“Harry, your walls are paper thin. We’re not getting each other off right now.”

Harry licks his lips. “Robin had a job this morning and Gemma took my mom out for a morning sail on the sunfish. The door slammed behind them like five minutes ago.”

Louis tilts his head and blows out a breath. “What do we have then, another five minutes?”

“Probably an hour. And, also, even if they get back, they really don’t care, Louis. They’re happy for us. My mom confronted me about it after my aunt told her and when I confirmed, she teared up a bit and pulled me into a hug. She wanted to make us a cake.” Harry’s smiling at the memory and that softens Louis a bit.

“I see where you get it,” he says.

“What?” Harry blinks.

“Baking your feelings.”

Harry laughs.

Louis smiles at him. For a moment, they just look at each other. Finally, Louis says, “I need a smoke and cup of coffee. What if we get the hell out of here, go back to the farm and, um, then, fuck in a real bed.”

“Fuck?” Harry asks.

They haven’t tried any, like, _ass_ stuff, since that first time. Louis’ ready to try again, if Harry’s up for it. “Yeah, if you want.”

Harry licks his lips. “I do.”

~

Harry’s practically bouncing in his seat the entire drive to the farmhouse. Louis’ usually the fidgeter; Harry’s surprisingly good at sitting absolutely still. It’s almost as though he’s already got something up his ass today. Which.

God.

Maybe he does.

“What’s wrong with you?” Louis asks, breaking lightly for the stop sign at the end of his street before rolling through.

Harry turns and smirks at him. “I’ve got _a lot_ of ideas.”

Louis coughs. Shifting in his own seat, Louis asks, “Care to share?”

“Last time, I rode you. I thought maybe this time we could try with me on my hands and knees. That’s supposed to be easier,” Harry informs him.

Louis pulls into the driveway. “Supposed to be? You mean you don’t know…”

Harry’s jaw drops and he smacks Louis’ arms. “I’m not an expert! What kind of boy do you think I am? Louis!”

That’s not what Louis was trying to imply, and he tries to explain that to Harry as they make their way into the house. “I wasn’t saying you were any kind of boy. I just assumed you’d have a preferred, like, position, seeing as how _you’re_ the one who’s done this before.”

Harry’s breezing through the kitchen, making his way _very, very quickly_ to Louis’ bedroom.

When Louis catches up to him, he stops and stands for a moment in the doorway. Harry’s pulling his clothes off, smooth, careful movements that Louis has difficulty following, mostly because his eyes are drawn to the bare skin he’s exposing.

“You’re so beautiful, babe,” he says. His voice is surprisingly rough. He doesn’t even feel particularly turned on. Or he’s aroused, yes, but not desperate, not yet. Mostly, right now he feels _lucky_ , like he’s found something that no one else knows about, like a secret spring in the woods or a den of newborn foxes.

Harry’s better than those things, though, and more unique.

Harry grins at him. “You like me naked?”

“I like you. Period.”

“Well, I like _you_ naked. Let’s go. Get on with it.” He snaps his fingers.

Louis undresses, though not nearly as gracefully as Harry had, he’s sure. Still, Harry watches, perched on the edge of Louis’ mattress, an awed expression on his face.

Louis hopes that Harry feels lucky, too.

When Louis’ finished, standing bare-ass naked in the middle of his room, feeling completely exposed, Harry beckons him to the bed.

They make out for a few minutes, but there’s an unusual urgency to it. Louis can’t stop thinking about being inside of Harry again, about making it _good_ this time.

He’s inexperienced and last time they’d tried this he’d fucked it up, so in the meantime he’d done a little bit of research.

Harry’s right, hands on knees is _supposed_ to be easier according to the gay sex advice blogs he’d found. Though tiring on one’s arms and hard on one’s knees, it’s supposed to help the _angle_ of the… penetration. Or something.

Louis might’ve gotten hot halfway through reading the lengthy explanation and then jerked himself off instead of finishing.

He had, however, been able to make it through the instructions for ‘prep.’ He’d even tried it on himself in the shower.

“I want to finger you,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips, reluctant to break the kiss, despite how eager he is to fuck.

Harry’s brows go up and his voice wavers a little as replies, “Really? I mean, yeah. Let’s, um, do that.”

Louis presses his lips to Harry’s temple before rolling away to grab the lube from it’s new home on top of his nightstand.

When he turns back, Harry’s crawling to his hands and knees, winking at Louis and wiggling his ass. He’s always doing that, pulling Louis back and forth. One moment he’s taking Louis deep into a place of insecurity and uncertainty, causing Louis to question his kinkiness and apparent experience, and the next he’s tugging him forward with a playful lick of his lips or dirty- _sometimes really, really fucking dirty_ \- turn of phrase, assuring Louis that he’s game for anything.

Louis likes both places, likes reassuring him and likes playing with him, he’s just nervous that one of these days, Harry will take a turn and forget to bring Louis along with him. Unknowingly left behind, Louis is bound to eventually say the wrong thing and hurt him.

It’s clear now that Harry’s ready to _play_. Which is good, because that’s where Louis is, too. Eager and hard and curious.

He takes a breath and observes Harry’s ass. Harry wiggles it again.

“You gonna jerk off on me or are you gonna fuck me?” Harry asks.

The former suggestion hadn’t even occurred to Louis. He could do that, too, tug himself, pulling and pulling and pulling until he’s painting Harry’s ass with his come.

Jesus.

Another time. He’ll save it for another time.

He slides a careful finger from the top of Harry’s ass down to cover his hole. Then he circles it before pushing the tip just inside. The muscles in Harry’s back twitch.

Lube. He needs lube.

He takes a deep breath and unscrews the cap. He’s never used it so often as he does now and he has to work at it a moment before anything comes out.

“We could try that sometime- doing it dry…” Harry tells him.

“Harry. That’d be _way_ too painful,” Louis replies, sliding his finger back inside. Harry squeezes tightly around him.

“I like the pain,” he groans. “I live for it.”

“Oh my god. No, you don’t. You’re a big baby,” Louis protests. He is, too. His eyes had teared up when Louis’d accidentally pulled his hair blocking a shot in basketball. Three days ago.

“Not during sex,” Harry insists. “I _love_ the pain.”

“Sure thing.” Sometimes the easiest thing to do is just agree with him. Louis inserts a second finger and Harry groans.

“Yes,” he says. “More.”

He’s a little bossy this morning. A little _saucy_. It’s unusual for him and sort of awkward, but Louis likes when he gets this way, likes when he knows what he wants and _says it._ Louis is happy to do as he’s asked. He slips in a third finger.

Harry’s groan this time is deeper and the rough vibration of it rattles through Louis, reminding him of his own cock, hard and heavy between his legs.

“So pretty, so tight, so perfect,” he tells Harry and Harry preens.

Louis thinks Harry expends an unnecessary amount of energy posing and pouting, fishing for it. It’s an _unnecessary_ amount because Louis doesn’t really need prompting- Harry’s sexy enough that the words just pour out of him almost unconsciously.

“You ready for me?” Louis asks through gritted teeth, as he rips open the condom packet with his mouth and his free hand.

“I’ve _been_ ready for you, Lou,” Harry tells him, but his voice is breathier, less thick and higher than usual. Louis peeks around his body to check.

Yep, he’s still hard.

Louis angles his fingers, a little test.

Harry whines.

Louis lets up. “Well, that’s not a myth, then. Fucking fantastic.”

“Not a myth,” Harry pants. “You, like, you found it.”

Louis moves his fingers, again, the exact same way.

Harry whines, but he recovers quickly to grate out, “Fuck, Lou. You’ve definitely found it.”

“Think I can find it with my dick?” He asks, pulling his fingers free. He feels less sure about his ability to do so than he sounds.

“You’re an explorer. A genius. Persistent,” Harry murmurs, gasping for a breath between each phrase. “You’ll do it. I have faith in you.”

It takes Harry longer to get the words out than it does for Louis to roll on the condom, pour on a little lube, and arrange himself so that he’s a lined up with Harry’s hole.

“Here I go,” Louis warns him, and then he presses in.

Louis’ thoughts dissolve into a cloud of nonsense- a mess of _hot, wet, yes, more, tight, good_ \- almost immediately and he struggles not to obey his instinct to begin thrusting hard and fast until he comes.

This time he wants to make it good for Harry, too.

“Are you alright?” he asks Harry, continuing to ease in.

“Lou,” Harry says. It’s not an answer. But the keen he makes when Louis angles his hips upwards is. Louis tries again.

“I found it?” Right a-fucking-way. Louis is the _king_.

“Yes,” Harry groans. His arms are shaking.

Louis reaches around to tug at his cock. It’s hard, and Louis hisses out, “Fuck, _yeah.”_ Because he’d been worried that this would be a repeat of last time, that Harry’d soften, disinterested or maybe in pain, with Louis inside him.

But he hasn’t and his cock is heavy and hot in Louis’ hand as he begins to pull. He knows that Harry likes teasing, and variation, so he tries working him fast and light for a moment, before giving into the urge to match the rhythm of his own hips which is hard and slow, but even.

“Fuck, Louis. Keep. Can you… _rougher_ …” Harry’s voice is broken and Louis doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but he relaxes a bit, thrusting quicker, less carefully, meanwhile trying to match the rhythm with his wrist.

“Yeah,” Harry says, cock jerking in Louis’ hand as he comes. And then, “Lou. Keep going.”

Louis picks up his pace, deciding to take Harry at his word, thrusting in roughly, the bed shaking beneath them, until he’s coming, too.

“Oh my god,” he cries as Harry’s ass tightens around him. “Yeah.”

They’re both panting, sunlight streaming in from Louis’ window, birds chirping loudly in the tree just outside it. “That was so good.”

“It was,” Harry agrees. Louis pulls out and drops to the bed beside him. Harry leans over and kisses him. It’s a kiss that says, “I fucking love you.” At least, that’s the feeling Louis tries to press into it with a twist of his tongue and a smack of his lips.

“I think,” Harry drawls settling back into the pillows. “I was right before, during the fireworks. It’d be better if you tied me up next time.”

His voice is shot and Louis shakes his head because, “Are you kidding me? That was… incredible. I’m not opposed to tying you up, babe. But that was _incredible._ ”

Harry’s brows draw together and he won’t meet Louis’ eyes. “If you say so.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Louis splutters.

Harry dimples pop before his grin does. His eyes are dancing. “Maybe.”

Louis shakes his head grinning back. “I don’t know why I love you so fucking much, but I do.”

Harry licks his lips and meets Louis’ eyes. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Harry look happier. “I love you, too,” he says.

Louis buries his face in Harry’s neck. “Don’t leave,” he says.

“Louis, you always say that.” Harry laughs. “I don’t know why. I’m not leaving you. Ever. You couldn’t make me.”

Louis wants so much to believe him.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Louis is deplorably immoral this chapter. He steals cookies from Stylin’ Sweets right under Harry’s nose and does not come to a complete stop at a stop sign on an empty, backwoods road. Another unhappy, accidental outing. Shower crying. Hand jobs! Fingering! Anal sex! And it’s all quite idyllic this time ‘round! Also, ugly, terrible, disgusting, gross amounts of fluff. Enjoy it while lasts, my friends.


	8. September 2015 Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, looks like 'September 2015 Part 2' will have to wait until next Monday. Enjoy Part 1! 
> 
> A few spoiler-y warning notes at the end. :)

 

“Fuck working with your stepdad,” Louis says, hopping onto the counter. Louis’ neck is sunburnt, his body aches all over and he’s gotten a call from the bank- overdrawn, again. He needs a different job.

Harry’s washing tomatoes and peppers in the sink. Louis thinks they might be from the garden outside. Harry’s really turned it around over the last six weeks or so.

“He likes working with you, when you show up on time,” Harry tells him. “And when you’re not too careless. He thinks you should be more patient with corners and edging.”

Louis pounds a fist on the counter. “I’m not cut out for detail work. I’m a damn fast painter though. He should be happy about that.”

(Robin does appreciate it, is the thing. Louis’ all but certain it’s Harry who thinks Louis should be paying more attention to the ‘corners and edging.’)

“What happened to going back to school?” Harry asks, setting a green pepper on a cutting board.

Louis sighs. “Doesn’t bring in any money.”

“There are loans and scholarships,” Harry says. “I bet Dan would help.”

Louis snorts. “I’m not taking money from him. What happens when he and Jay break up and then he wants me to pay him back with interest? Yeah, not worth it.”

Harry slices into the pepper. “I was just asking, since you obviously don’t want to work for Robin your whole life.”

Louis picks at a glob of paint on his jeans. “I don’t, you’re right. But I just don’t know what else to do. This farm isn’t going to cut it.”

“You could sell the farm, use that to pay for your school.”

“I’m not selling the farm,” Louis says. “It’s still technically my mom’s. And anyway my grandpa would find a way here from heaven to strangle me.”

Harry laughs. “Your grandpa loved you. He’d want you to be happy.”

Louis phone buzzes in his pocket. “My mom,” he tells Harry pointing at the phone as he lifts it to his mouth.

Harry nods.

“Hey, Mom,” Louis says.

“Louis! Are you off work already?”

“Tell her I say, ‘hi’,” Harry says. His knife is moving so fast Louis is scared he’s going to take off a finger. He has to look away.

“Harry says ‘hi’,” Louis tells her. She’s probably heard, anyway.

“Oh, is he making you two dinner again? You boys should have the family over. I don’t mean to invite myself, but he’s such a good cook.”

“If you don’t mean to invite yourself, then don’t,” Louis says.

“It’s my house, Louis.”

“Tell her she and the girls should come over on Thursday,” Harry says. “I’d love to cook for them.” He’s a rat, working for the other side. Louis does not need his mother over for fucking dinner. Goddamn it. But he can’t very well say ‘no’ to both of them.

“Fine. Harry says you should come over on Thursday and he’ll cook for you,” Louis can hear the resignation in his voice and he knows, from the dirty little smile he’s biting back, that Harry can, too.

“He’s such a good kid, Louis. So glad he’s taking care of you these days.”

Her tone is a tad patronizing and Louis wants to spit back something bitter about how he can take care of his own damn self, but, actually, he doesn’t feel bitter about Harry helping out. Not at all. So he says, “Me, too.”

“You’ve got to get him to stick around, honey,” she says. “Tell him how much better off we all are with him in Edwardsville instead of Chicago.”

If only it were that easy. Louis sighs, “Yeah, yeah.”

~

Harry outdoes himself on Thursday. He’s certainly never made this kind of spread for just the two of them. Steaks _and_ salmon, three types of salad, homemade rolls, and two different pies- blueberry and peach. And he’s set the table with Louis’ grandmother fancy china dishes, the ones with cheery pink and orange flower, and her silver. On top of each plate is a perfectly folded white cloth napkin.

Louis can’t remember the last time this table had hosted such an extravagent meal, certainly not since his grandma had gotten sick.

That afternoon, he’s a bundle of nerves, asking Louis to help with all sorts of unnecessary tasks like cleaning out the refrigerator and ironing the tablecloth. He rechecks the menu with Louis at least four times, needing reassurance that Louis’ younger siblings won’t go hungry. Louis can tell that he’s desperate to impress his family, all of them. Louis doesn’t understand why; they already know and love him.

Louis’ mom arrives twenty minutes late. Louis comes by his lack of timeliness honestly, but Harry’s planned for this and doesn’t put anything on the grill until after he’s greeted them and directed everyone to the hummus and veggies and pita he’s set out on the kitchen counter.

Fizzy and Daisy have just gotten home from band camp and are eager to tell Louis all about their adventures while munching on the snacks. (According to Fizzy the biggest news is that a boy probably maybe likes Daisy, but Daisy doesn’t like him back because he’s too into NASCAR and BMX and not enough into basketball and Harry Potter.) Harry takes the younger set of twins out back with him, letting them play in the garden while he mans the grill, and Louis’ mom sits down at the table across from Phoebe (who’s texting, of course), her plate filled with carrots and celery.

“It’s so nice that this place is being lived in again,” his mom sighs, smiling brightly at Louis.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Louis replies. He’s never _stopped_ living here. He knows what she means, though, everything is different, better, with Harry here. The place seems so much more alive, so much more the farm he remembers from his childhood.

“You’re really lucky, Louis. Cause Harry’s a good cook, too,” Phoebe says, looking up from her phone. “I hate to cook so I’m going to _have_ to find a guy like Harry that can.”

“Maybe you should just learn to cook yourself,” Louis suggests. He hates the idea of his sisters falling into the same trap his mom had, relying on a guy for things they should be able to do for themselves.

“Worked real well for you, I see,” Fizzy says, carrot crunching as she bites into it.

“I’m a guy,” Louis protests, but he can see her point. He does wish he knew how to cook better. He’s gotten used to being well fed this summer and he’s not sure what he’ll do once Harry goes back to Chicago. Probably, he’ll have to go back to eating most of his meals at Dan’s and Horan’s and stealing as many leftovers as he can.

Doris bursts into the kitchen through the back door, holding it open as Ernie and Harry follow her through.

“Harry’s cooked _fish_!” The delight in her voice confuses Louis. Last he’d heard neither of the twins would eat meat that hadn’t been heavily processed and shaped into a dinosaur.

His mother catches his eye. She’s surprised, too. “Oh yeah? Are you going to eat some of it?”

“Yeah, because it’s magical fish,” Doris says.

“I’m not eating it,” Ernie says. “Magic is bad for you.”

“No it’s not,” Doris shouts.

“It’s very good for you,” Harry tells them, setting two platters onto the table. “Are you ready to eat? I hope so cause the food is hot and ready!”

The meal gets off to a good start, with much delighted humming and praise for the food. His mom asks Harry about how things are going with ‘Stylin’ Sweets’ (really good) and Harry asks the the girls how they’re feeling about the new school year (really bad).

But, of course, his mother can’t help herself.

“Now, Harry, do you have a boyfriend waiting on you back in Chicago?”

Louis coughs.

Harry takes the question in stride, laughing as he answers, “No. No boyfriend _in Chicago_...” He trails off, poking at the salmon on his plate.

“Mom,” Louis says, hoping to head off this conversation before she can drive it any further off the road and into hell.

“No boyfriend _in Chicago_ ,” she parrots, grinning as her eyes narrow. She pats Louis’ forearm and says, “Louis hasn’t got anyone in his life either, waiting on him here, I mean. I heard for a fact that his ex, Eleanor has really moved on.”

“She’s with Max, right?” Fizzy asks. “I always knew he was looking to move in on her.”

“You’re lucky to have had each other this summer,” Louis’ mom says, ignoring Fizzy’s comment. “You two boys. Living here. At the farmhouse. So lucky.”

Louis holds his breath. Everyone seems tense. But maybe he’s just projecting.

God, why does his mom have to be so awkward.

“We are lucky,” Harry says, carefully.

“I’ve been waiting for Louis to meet the right girl for a really long time.” Louis’ mom is now beaming, eyes almost swallowed up in smile lines. What the fuck is her deal. Why is she talking about Louis and girls.

A small part of him is tempted to reach over and grab Harry’s hand so everyone can see it, so _she_ can see it. He’s tempted to tell her he’s found the right person and that person is right fucking here at the table with them.

He doesn’t, though, of course.

It’d be the end of their quaint family meal if he did, for one thing, ruin Harry’s elaborately planned dinner.

_Fuck._

“I think we can all agree that Eleanor was _not_ the right girl for Louis,” Phoebe says. She licks her lips and then shoots Louis a sweet smile. “She deserves better than your lazy ass.”

Louis makes a face at her.

“I bet Louis was a great boyfriend,” Harry insists. He really wasn’t, not to Eleanor, but he appreciates the sentiment coming from his current boyfriend. He’s much better with Harry, though probably not deserving of the title ‘great.’ He’s shit at household chores and he’s not really got his feet off the ground financially. But he does try.

“You know who’s a great boyfriend?” Daisy says, shaking her head as if to clear it.

“Who?” Louis asks. He sees that she’s about to change the subject and he’s ready for it.

“John Watson.”

“No way,” says Phoebe. “He ditches his ladies for Sherlock all the time. How can you even say that? Oh my god.”

“He’s a good boyfriend to _Sherlock,_ I mean,” Daisy clarifies. “And anyway, I thought you hated that show. I thought you didn’t even watch it.”

Phoebe clears her throat. “I mean, I don’t. But, I do agree with you. John is a better boyfriend to Sherlock than he is husband to his wife.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Louis asks, completely lost. He thinks they might be talking about Sherlock Holmes- Daisy went through a mystery show phase a couple of years ago, but he didn’t know that Sherlock was _gay._

“Nevermind,” Daisy says. “You wouldn’t get it. But I’m right. Even Phoebe agrees.”

Phoebe blows out a frustrated breath. “I do not like that show. I only watched because you-”

“Louis,” his mom interrupts. “Speaking of being a good boyfriend.”

He thinks about saying that he’s not a ‘boyfriend,’ but Harry’s sitting quietly beside him and he doesn’t want to lie.

Instead, Louis sets down fork and folds his arms across his chest. “What?”

“There’s a job opening up at the school I think you should apply for- a lunchroom aide,” she says. Louis has no idea what that has to do with being a good boyfriend, but he’s been trying to work at the school for years, as a coach or an aide or _something._

“Who should I call?” he asks.

She seems thrilled to give him the details and doesn’t bring up girlfriends or boyfriends for the rest of the night.

~

Louis dips a soapy plate in the hot water filling the sink and then hands it to Harry to dry. Harry has some sort of weird dish washing system as per state regulations and he insists they use it for their personal meals, too. Louis does not complain, but he usually tries to avoid cleaning up.

Tonight, though, after his family heads back to Glen River, the kitchen is a disaster and Louis would have felt more than a little guilty about leaving it all to Harry, so he’d offered to do the all dishes.

Harry’d agreed to let him help.

Now, Harry wipes off the drops of water with a bright blue towel and then places the plate on the counter. His movements are slow and careful and he sets the dish down so gently that it doesn’t make a sound. Louis’ grandma’s plates are fragile, but Louis thinks Harry might be overdoing it.

“Your mom knows about us,” Harry says.

They haven’t really spoken since everyone left. Louis’ head is still buzzing from his sisters and mom talking over each other all night. The quiet they’d left in their wake had seemed peaceful. Louis remembers that this silence was part of the reason he’d been happy to stay in the Farmhouse after they’d moved out.

Louis doesn’t like that Harry’s broken it and he doesn’t like _how_.

“She was literally talking about finding me the right girl,” Louis says. “She has no idea.”

“I think she was trying to hint that I might be the right girl for you,” Harry replies easily.

He’s wrong.

“Um, one problem,” Louis tells him, passing him another plate.

“Yeah?” He says, pausing to look at Louis, instead of drying it straight off.

Louis looks back at him. “You’re not a girl.”

“I mean, I think she meant that, like, as a manner of speaking. You know how people say stuff like that?” Harry’s not giving this up; he’s developing an edge to his voice.

“I know my mother,” Louis says. He does. He doesn’t like Harry acting like he’s figured something out about her that Louis hasn’t. “I would know if she knew. She’d confront me about it for one thing. She’s never been one to keep her mouth shut about any life decision I’ve made. So if she knew I was dating you, she’d have something to say about it.”

Harry shakes his head as he turns around to set a now dry dish on top of the pile behind him. “She literally _just_ tried to say something. She was giving us her approval, Louis.”

“She wasn’t,” Louis insists. “If she wanted to do that, she’d fucking do it.” Louis doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He flounders for another topic.

Harry isn’t done, though. “Well, I think you should tell her, either way. She clearly likes me and wants us to stick together. I mean, I think she does. She seemed to like the meal. And she was talking about what a good catch I’d be and like, I mean. I don’t know-“

“God, Harry. Of course, she likes you. I can’t believe you’re dead certain she thinks we’re together, but you’re questioning whether she likes you.” Louis’ mom has always loved Harry. Nothing would change that, not him being gay or moving to Chicago. Nothing. But it doesn’t mean she wants him to date _Louis_. That’s a _huge_ jump that Louis is not willing to make, not based on some vague hints that only Harry’s intuition had picked up on.

“She loves you. She loves me. I don’t see why you’re so afraid to broach the subject with her. What do you think she’s going to do, disown you? Yeah, right. She depends on you.”

Louis sighs. They haven’t fought about this much, but Louis knows it isn’t going to go away. It’s one of many reasons Harry will, eventually, leave.

Harry needs someone- _deserves someone-_ who’ll be totally honest with their family about him, about how much they love him.

Louis looks down. His hands are turning pruny in the water; fuck but he hates doing dishes. “I’m not ready to tell her. I thought you were okay with that.”

Harry puts his hands on Louis’ hips and turns him so that they’re facing one another. He rests his forehead against Louis’. “I am okay with it. I just think she knows and I’m sure if she doesn’t she’d be okay with it, that’s all. If you don’t tell her, that’s… whatever. I just wanted you to know that I thought you probably could.”

Louis nods and then leans forward to capture Harry’s lips in a soft kiss. It’s easier than saying he can’t do that and he’s sorry.

~

Harry reads the Friday paper. Louis’d thought Harry’d been fucking with him that first time he’d come into the kitchen to see buried in the newsprint spread all across the counter.

“It’s Friday,” Harry’d said. “Movie reviews on Friday. I always read them. And I figure, if I’m buying the whole paper, I might as well _read_ the whole paper.”

“Sure, okay,” Louis’d replied.

But then he’d seen the same thing the next Friday and the Friday after that.

The fourth time, early in September, Louis asks, “Can’t you get the movie reviews online for free?”

Harry ignores him. “They say this film will define romance for our generation and the next. A Serious Comedy.”

“Which film?”

“It’s playing Strausbury,” Harry says.

“Oh! Have you been to the new theater?” Louis asks. He doubts Harry has; the place has only been open since last January and Louis hasn’t even been. An hour is a long way to drive for a movie when the theater in Lakeland will do just fine.

Harry shakes his head, eyes still scanning the paper.

“We should go. As a date. For our anniversary.”

Harry looks up. “Our one month anniversary? You’re a sap.”

Louis shrugs, smiling.

Their relationship shouldn’t have lasted this long. It shouldn’t even be possible. Sometimes, Louis wakes up unsure that it has. When that happens he shakes away the grogginess and rolls over to look at Harry sleeping beside him. Sometimes, he has to touch Harry lightly on the shoulder or the cheek to assure himself that he’s not imagining everything. But Harry is always there and his skin is always warm and soft and real and Louis wants to celebrate.

He likes the idea of taking Harry out, like _really_ out, and Strausbury is far enough away so as to feel safe.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “Let’s do it.”

Louis can feel his grin widen, stretching enough to pinch. “It’s a date.”

Harry nods and then frowns, biting his lip. “Speaking of dates…”

Louis’ stomach plummets. Harry’s going to bring it up, going to tell Louis when he’s leaving.

“My mom heard from your mom that we’re hosting family dinners and invited herself and Robin over tomorrow night.”

Louis blinks.

“Okay?” Harry asks.

“Okay,” Louis says, relieved that he doesn’t have to deal with the prospect of losing Harry, not yet, anyway.

~

Anne brings a cake. A cheesecake, which just so happens to be Louis’ favorite kind of cake. When she takes the lid off the tupperware to show them, Harry turns to beam at Louis.

Across the top in rainbow lettering, it says, “Congratulations.”

“What’s this for?” Louis asks, glancing over at Anne, whose smile is uncannily similar to Harry’s.

“I’m happy for you two,” she says simply. “I wanted to make you cake.”

“I told you,” Harry says. Louis remembers.

“Thanks?”

Anne laughs and pulls him into a hug. When she lets go, Robin’s right there to grab him up.

“She wanted to do it with pink and flowers, thought Harry’d like that. I told her you were more of a rainbow kind of guy,” Robin says.

Louis raises his eyebrows. He’s hasn’t really thought about it one way or another.

“I seen some of the shirts you wear. Very colorful,” Robin says, nodding.

Louis looks down. He’s wearing red and blue today, a Pizza Castle shirt Fizzy had given him for Christmas last year.

He smiles at Robin. “I like it.” Because he _does._

“I will say,” Anne begins, moving to help Harry set the table. “I am happy for you, but I wish you’d spend more time over on the lake, not keep to yourselves so much. My boy is home for the first time in years and I barely ever see him.”

Harry’s putting out their everyday beat-up blue plates, not the fancy one’s he’d pulled out for Louis’ family.

“Young love, a new relationship,” Robin says, leaning against the counter and waggling his eyebrows at Louis. “You know how it is, sweetheart. I don’t blame them.”

Anne laughs. “Oh, I didn’t even think about _that_.”

“Mom,” Harry groans.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be shy now, Harry,” Anne says, filling a row of cups with water from the tap. She hands one to Robin and continues, “I’ve seen the sorts of things you keep in your room. And don’t forget I’m an adult with _two_ children. I know how these things work.”

Harry’s flushed pink all over and Louis feels an echoing heat on his own skin. What the fuck.

“Mom,” Harry says again.

“And I’m not weirded out by the ‘gay’ thing. I’ve done my research. As long as you’re being safe, I think it’s healthy,” Anne continues, carrying a steaming dish of asparagus over to the table.

“I’m weirded out by it, I’ll be honest,” says Robin. “I don’t think it’s bad, but I _am_ weirded out by it. I’ve never wanted anything up my--”

Harry laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh; there’s a whine behind it. “Can we stop talking about this? Please?”

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry uncomfortable during a conversation about sex before and despite the awkwardness of the situations, he’s a little amused.

“I don’t blame you, Robin,” Louis says. “I was a little weirded out myself, at first.”

“Louis,” Harry says. “Oh my god.”

Anne throws an arm around him. “You need to loosen up, Harry. I know I did not raise my son to be a tightass.”

“I have to disagree,” Louis says before he can stop himself.

Robin chokes, water dribbling down his chin.

“We are going to talk about something else,” Harry announces. He pauses and then practically shouts, “Did you know that Louis is applying for a job at the school?”

Louis freezes. He hasn’t told Robin yet; he wanted to think about how to do it, maybe wait and see if he got the job first.

“That’s so great,” Anne gushes. “I’m sure they’ll hire you.”

Robin’s still wiping at his face, but he smiles at Louis. “Good. You weren’t meant to be a painter all your life. Though as long as I have work for you, I’d keep you on. But I know it doesn’t bring you a lot of joy. You deserve to do something that does.”

Louis meets his eyes and swallows. He hadn’t really thought about it like that. Work has always been _work_.

But the idea that Harry’s stepdad wants better for him, it’s, well, it’s a lot. “Thanks.”

“Of course, son,” he says. Robin’s always calling Louis ‘son’ these days, but for the first time Louis realizes he might not be using the term casually. He might actually care about Louis, like a son.

“We’re proud of you,” Anne says. “Of both of you.”

~

The plan is simple, dinner and a movie, a _date_. Louis’ wants to be able to stare into Harry’s eyes over dinner and flirt a little.

The likelihood that they’ll run into anyone they know in Strausbury is slim to none. Louis knows this. In his head. But that knowledge doesn’t keep the butterflies out of his stomach, doesn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder as they walk from where they’ve parked his truck to the little movie theater.

He insists on paying for the tickets to the movie, but is in the bathroom when Harry buys the popcorn.

They’re late to the show, of course, since when he’d gotten home after working with Robin all day Louis’d needed a smoke and shower before they could leave for Strausbury. Harry hadn’t complained, though; he’d just followed Louis around the house bouncing on his toes, moving him along, ready to go _out._

When they walk into the darkened theater, the previews are finishing up and the Twentieth Century Fox horns are playing.

There’s only five other people in the place because it’s a Tuesday night in the middle of September in fucking Strausbury. Still, Louis guides Harry to settle into a pair of seats in the back, up against the wall so even the person in the projection booth won’t be able to see them.

Maybe Harry is right to trust the local paper. The review didn’t lie. The movie manages to be both serious and hilarious- the heroine’s big eyes, bouncing ponytail, and unflappable idealism in stark contrast to the heavy brows, sharp suits, and pessimistic realism of the hero and his skeezy friends.

The Big Fight happens on the rooftop porch of the hero’s penthouse which he can afford because he has a hard-earned job in the ‘financial industry’, and when the heroine stops mid-rant to gaze out in awe at the city lights all around them, Louis’ stomach churns.

It’s a little bit unbelievable, how the main characters go from shouting at each other about Real Life Serious Shit to making out, and Louis turns to Harry to say so, but Harry’s not watching the movie, he’s watching Louis.

His eyes are a little glassy and his lips slightly parted and Louis’ breath catches when their gazes collide.

Harry’s brows draw together and Louis is suddenly _so_ tempted to kiss him. “Harry,” he whispers.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispers back.

Louis licks his lips and Harry’s eyes fall down, fixing on Louis’ mouth.

Someone coughs, gently, several rows in front of them and Louis startles, looking away. The man in question is sipping a fountain drink and staring at the screen where the lovers are currently stripping.

Louis looks back at Harry. He’s looking back and frowning.

No one can see them. No one knows them. No one cares. Louis repeats these things to himself a couple of times and then, heart in his throat, reaches over to take Harry’s hand in his own.

Harry immediately squeezes his fingers and when Louis looks over, his eyes have returned to the screen but he’s grinning.

For the rest of the movie, their hands stay linked, Louis’ grip tightening as the end approaches. By the time the credits roll, he’s panicking a little. He doesn’t want to let go of Harry, not now that he has him.

Harry makes the choice for both of them, though, freeing himself from Louis’ grip as he stands and straightens out his shirt.

“Well, that was the most riveting movie I’ve ever seen,” Harry says, voice echoing loudly in the mostly empty theater. Louis knows he’s not talking about the movie. It was good, but not that good. “Do you think we should still find dinner or should we call it quits while we’re ahead?”

Louis stomach growls.

Harry laughs. “Dinner it is.”

His dimples are flashing again and Louis wishes things were different. He wishes he could kiss him right here, right now.

~

Louis’ mom’s favorite restaurant is in downtown Strausbury. It’s a tiny place that the rich tourists love with fresh, local, _organic_ farm-grown food and huge oil paintings of the surrounding lakes on happy yellow walls. It only opened up two years ago, and Harry’s never been.

The moment they walk inside, he lights up. He greets the girl sitting on a stool behind the counter with a broad smile and a ‘hello,’ before wandering over to gape at one of the paintings, He walks up close, nose not quite brushing the canvas, and then backs up again to take in the whole thing.

This is exactly why Louis’d wanted to bring him here.

The restaurant is empty, aside from them and the girl. The sign out front says the place is due to close in fifteen minutes.

Louis licks his lips and tears his eyes away from Harry. To the girl, he asks, “Is it okay if we come in now? I really love your food. I’ve been wanting to take him here all summer.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows he’s given them away. That’s absolutely the type of thing you say about a date.

“Of course. You’re lucky you walked in now, though. I was just about to flip the sign,” she says, picking up a couple of menus.

“We can go,” Louis replies, even though he really doesn’t want to.

“It’s fine.” She’s laughing a little and Louis decides to take her at her word.

“I’ll tip you well,” Louis says.

“You’d better.” She gestures to a table by the window, but Louis says, “Maybe the one in the back by that painting he’s looking at.”

“Sure,” she says.

“Who painted these?” Harry says, he’s still standing, inspecting the artwork even after Louis’ sat down.

“I’m not sure. Some local retiree, probably.”

Harry’s mouth twists, but he doesn’t look away from the painting. “I love the all the different blues. They really capture the magic of the lakes, you know?”

Louis laughs. “Do you want me to order for you?”

Harry shakes his head and blinks at Louis. “No, sorry. “ He squats down and leans in close to Louis’ ear, so close that his lips brush skin. It’s fine. Louis’ _fine_ with this. “None of these paintings are as captivating as you. None of the blues as pretty as your eyes.”

“Stop,” Louis says.

Harry sits and they watch each other for a few moments. Harry’s biting back a smile, his dimples deep. A curl hangs in his eyes, Louis’ fingers itch to tug it.

It’s an itch he’s always had- the itch to pull Harry’s curls- and he supposes that should’ve clued him into his feelings for Harry a long time ago.

Harry’s eyes flick down to the menu. “So what’s Jay’s favorite thing on the menu. She’s got better taste than you.”

“Hey, I’m the one who picked you,” Louis says. One of Harry’s hands is resting on top of the table- the one Louis’d held in the theater. He wants to hold it again. He settles for reaching across the table and giving it a quick squeeze.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Your taste can’t be trusted.” Harry’s face is serious, but Louis isn’t fooled for a second. Harry knows he’s a catch.

Louis kicks him under the table. Harry kicks back, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

The hostess wanders out. She has a pad and pen. Even before she reaches them, she’s asking, “Are you guys ready to order?”

“Oops, he’s been distracting me,” Harry says.

“No way. It’s his fault,” Louis says, nodding to Harry.

The waitress smiles at Louis. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Hey, now,” Louis says. “I know what I want.” He’s thinking about Harry, but he winks at her.

“Don’t flirt with the waitress. It’s not polite. She’s a person, Louis, not an object.” Harry pouts at him.

“I don’t mind,” the girl says.

“I do,” Harry replies. “I’ll have a diet coke and your most popular wrap.”

“That’s the Mexican one- it has spiced chicken and homemade salsa and guac- is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Harry tells her, smiling again. He’s so fucking charming. It’s probably his dimples.

Louis kicks him under the table. “I thought you said no flirting.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “I’m just being polite.”

“Polite, okay,” Louis says. “I’ll have the whitefish.” It’s more expensive than Louis can really afford, but Harry’s gone cheap and Louis doesn’t get to eat out like this very often. This is a special night- their one month anniversary. He can splurge.

“Good choice. It was caught this morning,” the girl says. “I’ll just put this in.”

As the girl walks away, Harry waggles his eyebrows, “You know what’s a better choice, a better catch?”

“What?” Louis says, even though he already knows what Harry’s about to say. “You?”

“No, _you_.” Harry says.

Louis kicks his shin this time and he winces. “Hey, Lou. I was being nice.”

“Don’t overdo it or I won’t believe you. Sappy romantics have something to prove.” Louis raises one brow in warning.

Harry laughs. “Sappy romantics? You mean people who bring their boyfriends on elaborate dates for their _one month_ anniversary?”

Louis looks away, focusing his gaze on a painting across the restaurant, and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harry reaches across the table to knock his hand against Louis’. “Thank you.” He leans in closer and mouths. “I love you.”

Louis mouths the words right back at him. “I love you, too.”

~

Louis follows the waitress to the counter to pay the bill and out of the corner of his eye, he watches Harry wander over to different painting.

After leaving a _very_ generous tip and signing the receipt, Louis walks over to stand beside Harry.

“I wish I could afford one of these for my apartment in Chicago,” Harry says.

“Match your decor?” Louis asks, elbowing him. “You have a Lake Michigan theme going?”

Harry frowns and shakes his head. “Actually.” He laughs. “Actually, it might kind of clash. But, like…” He trails off.

Louis asks. “What?”

“This would remind me of home. Of you. Of us.”

Louis glances down at the little white placard on the wall beside the painting.

 _$1200_.

That’s not happening.

“Gonna miss me?” Louis asks, fishing.

Harry nods. “Yeah, like…” He trails off again.

“Like, what?”

“This has been the best summer of my life.”

Louis shakes his head and says, “Okay,” even though he knows it can’t be true. Harry’d spent a summer in Europe for a study abroad and another doing a marketing internship at some famous Chicago bakery. Aside from the sex, he knows this summer has to have been lame as hell for Harry.

Harry turns to pout at him. “I’m serious, Lou. I forgot how much I love this place, how much I love _you_.”

His tone sits heavy on both their shoulders, yolking them uncomfortably. It’s not how Louis wants the night to end. “Let’s get ice cream,” he says.

Harry nods. “Okay.”

~

Darkness has fully settled over Strausbury by the time they leave the ice cream shop and the dimly lit streets make Louis feel safe, shrouded. Their elbows and their wrists and the backs of their hands bump together as they walk to the truck.

Louis has his key in the door to his truck, clicking it unlocked, and he’s smiling at Harry through the windows that separate them, when he stills.

He’s never had this much fun on a date before and he doesn’t know if he ever will again.

He’s doesn’t want to go home. Not yet.

Harry leaves in two weeks. Or three. Louis hasn’t asked because he’s reluctant to think about it. But as he hops into the cab of his truck, he realizes that he may never have another opportunity to take Harry out like this, to flirt with him and to stare openly at him in public and to spoil him.

Harry’s buckling his seatbelt when Louis says, “Why don’t we stay here tonight?”

Harry releases the seatbelt from his grip and it zips back into place. “Where? In the truck?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, there’s a motel we passed on the way into town. Let’s get a room, stay the night.”

“That place looked…” Harry’s frowning. “No offense, but I’d rather stay in the truck.”

“Fine,” Louis huffs. “If you’re done with me for the evening I can drop you back off at your parents’.”

Harry laughs. “Why don’t we stay there?” He’s pointing at a fancy downtown inn, right across from the little movie theater.

There’s no way in hell Louis can afford it.

He doesn’t think Harry can either. Hell, Harry _definitely_ can’t. Louis _knows_ he has more debt from school than Louis’ mom does from the farm.

“Harry. No. Rooms there have to cost like $200 a night. That’s as much as you make most weeks.” He doesn’t know if that’s true. He has no idea how Stylin’ Sweets has been going.

Harry pouts. “It _is_ our one month anniversary.”

“I thought you thought celebrating one month anniversaries was for romantic idiots,” Louis says, twisting in his seat to look Harry full in the face.

“Romantic idiots like me,” Harry says, batting his eyelashes at Louis. “And you.”

Louis sighs, feeling himself relent. He can put it on his credit card. His mom had gotten into trouble with some debt collectors because of what she’d owed on hers early on with Mark, before the twins had come along. Louis’ always been reluctant to use his, but he does have one. He’ll be able to pay it back, eventually. It’s not like he’s going to be going on _another_ romantic getaway like this anytime soon.

“Oh, what the hell. Alright,” he says.

“We’ll split the bill,” Harry assures him. “And once I’m rolling in piles of cash- which I intend to do- why the hell else would I have gone to business school- I’ll take you someplace even fancier.”

Louis shakes his head and hops out of the truck. It makes him uncomfortable, making future plans like that, where Harry has gone back to his fancy Chicago job, but somehow the two of them are still together. It’s not going to happen like that. They both know it won’t.

Louis begins to walk down the street toward the hotel, but he realizes Harry’s not with him. He’s digging around in the back of the cab.

“What are you looking for? Nothing back there’s been through the laundry in literal years. Hurry up!”

Harry hops out clutching something in his fist and he runs to catch up with Louis.

“What were you looking for?” Louis asks again.

Harry shows him a small tube of lube.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Louis knows _he_ didn’t put it in his truck. His lube is on his bedside table- they’d used it yesterday afternoon.

“I stashed it in there a while ago. I thought we might get caught up in the moment and it might come in handy,” Harry reasons, as though this is perfectly logical, the type of thing everyone probably does. As though Louis is the odd one for questioning him.

Louis is not the odd one.

“You’re weird,” Louis tells him.

“Be prepared, I always say.” Harry waggles his eyebrows.

“You do not always say that,” Louis disagrees. Louis has never heard him say that before, not once.

“Sure do.”

~

The hotel doesn’t cost quite $200, only $165 and the room they get is nicer than anywhere Louis’ ever stayed.

There’s art on the walls and a flat screen TV, which he turns on immediately, wanting to check the score of the baseball game.

Harry heads straight for the bathroom. “Boo,” he says, voice echoing. “We’ve only got a shower.”

“Are you kidding?” Louis asks. “You’re complaining about this?”

Harry peaks his head out. “I wanted to take a bubble bath with you.”

Louis looks Harry up and down. “It would have to be an awfully big bubble bath to fit both of us.”

Harry shrugs. “A man can dream, I always say.”

“You do not always say that. What is with you tonight?”

Louis knows, though. Harry’s happy. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Harry this happy.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Harry says, face turning serious as he walks toward the bed to sit beside Louis. “I’ve dreamed about it, you know, about going on dates with you and staying at fancy hotels with you, about doing the sorts of things couples do in romantic movies _with you_.” He leans his head on Louis’ shoulder. “I kind of can’t believe it’s really happening. I thought I knew you, but I never thought you’d actually say ‘yes’ to me, kiss me and tell me you loved me.”

From the television, Louis hears the crack of ball on a bat and the roar of a crowd on its feet.

“I do love you,” he says. “I have for a long time.” Longer than he’d realized.

“I know,” Harry says. “I just never thought you’d say it.”

Louis kisses his forehead. “Do you think there’s a minibar? And champagne?”

Harry points to a small fridge. “I kind of doubt there’s champagne.”

Louis walks over to it. Harry’s right. It’s empty. Louis turns back to him with a disappointed frown.

“We don’t need champagne,” Harry says. “I’m already drunk on your love.”

“Oh my god,” Louis says, but he can feel the frown on his face transforming into a stupid grin.

Harry waggles his eyebrows and lays back on the bed. “You ready to take a ride on the love machine?”

Louis is. God help him, but he is.

~

They make out on commercial breaks. Louis’d established the rule at home last week after he’d missed a grand slam because Harry’s ‘ass’ had ‘accidentally’ (sure, yeah, okay) muted the game. It’s not really an important game, but Louis’ isn’t going to waste an opportunity to watch baseball in HD on a huge screen.

The announcers are just coming back on, chatting over an image of their closer coming out of the bullpen to warm up, when Louis takes a deep breath goes for it.

“Harry?”

Harry gives him a peck on the lips. “Lou?”

Louis pulls back a bit, so he can see the whole of Harry’s face. “Would you like to fuck me?”

Harry’s eyes bug out and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t answer.

“We don’t have to. I was just asking. I thought maybe you might like to. Since we’ve never done it that way. I mean, maybe you’ve tried being the fuck-er, or, um, you call it the top, right? Maybe you’ve tried that and don’t like it. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

Except for now, especially after he’s backed the hell up, things are very awkward.

“Well,” Harry says. “I’m not sure that, like. I don’t know if…”

“It’s fine,” Louis says and then leans forward to kiss him, but Harry pulls back.

“No, I wasn’t finished. I mean…” He pauses again. God, Louis is such an idiot. Then, he says, “Yes. I want to try to, like. To fuck you.”

Louis frowns. “You don’t have to. I thought you might _want_ to, is all. And I would be okay with it. I’m sort of curious what it’s like from the, like, the other side.”

Harry bites his lip. “Yeah, me too, actually. I just don’t know if I’ll be any good.”

“Oh, it’s not hard!” And then he realizes the implication of Harry’s statement. “You haven’t done this before. Not this way.”

Harry stiffens. “I mean…”

One of the announcers is shouting on screen, but Louis doesn’t care about baseball right now. Right now, he cares that, “You’re a virgin.”

Harry gives him a confused look. “You’ve personally fucked me over a dozen times.”

“Been counting?” Louis asks. Then, quickly redirects the conversation back to where he wants it to be. “You’ve never fucked someone before!”

“I fucked Madeline,” Harry protests.

“When you were fourteen! That hardly counts,” Louis tells him, even though he’s still a little bitter. Madeline had been in Louis’ grade, a friend of Gemma’s and Harry’d had sex with her before Louis’d had sex with anyone.

It’s part of what earned him the reputation of kinky sex-freak among their friends, but Louis knew differently. Louis knew that Harry had been scared and in awe and afraid to tell this beautiful, older girl that they were moving too fast.

But he still had difficulty feeling bad for Harry, especially at the time. Louis would have sold his Playstation for a chance with Madeline.

(He should have been more focused on his options with Harry, turns out.)

“You been, like, _inside_ anyone since Madeline?” Louis asks.

Harry’s pout is in full bloom, now, and his cheeks are as red as his mouth. “I was inside you this morning.”

Louis frowns and then says, “Yeah, nice try. My mouth doesn’t count.”

“Oh? How about we just stop with the blowjobs, then? Since they don’t count.” Harry’s growling. It might be frightening. If Harry wasn’t more of a kitten than lion.

“You don’t want to stop with the blow jobs,” Louis assures him. “You’re just embarrassed. I thought- _everyone_ always thought you were the kinkiest, most experienced guy in all of Lake County. Especially with gay stuff, but you haven’t even fucked anyone before, not really.”

Louis hears the crow in his voice. He knows it’s obnoxious. This is not the way a good boyfriend would respond.

“No, I haven’t,” Harry says. He’s curling in on himself and suddenly Louis feels terrible.

“Babe, it’s okay,” Louis murmurs, placing a hand on his back and patting gently.

Harry grunts, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I didn’t know. I really thought- You always act like you know everything about sex, like you’ve done every kinky thing in the book and then some. I never suspected that you’d be inexperienced at something as simple as this?”

Harry doesn’t say anything but Louis can feel his shoulder muscles relaxing under his hand.

“Obviously, I’m inexperienced, too. Of course, it makes sense.” Louis’ shakes his head. “I’d read that, like, most guys are tops or bottoms. So if you’re a bottom, yeah, you’re inexperienced at being a top. So, um, sorry, I really shouldn’t have assumed that you enjoyed the other way. We don’t really have to do it, if you don’t want.”

“Shut up,” Harry hisses. It’s sudden and forceful, and they both wince. Louis focuses on his hands, which he folds and unfolds and then folds again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs. “It’s just that’s not why I’ve never done it- cause I’m a ‘bottom’ or whatever. I’m not some kinky sex god, Lou. I’ve only had sex with two people before you, Madeline and my ex boyfriend that you scared off. And I only did anal with him like three times. That’s it. I like the idea of the kinky stuff, yeah. And, like, I’ve fooled around a little bit- well, _a lot_ \- with it on my own. But you’re the first person I’ve really, you know, been at it long enough to really try _anything_.”

Louis looks at him.

Harry holds his gaze for a long moment and then looks away.

“But you always act like…” Louis trails off. He can’t believe Harry’s saying this. He can’t believe it’s _true._ He thought he had Harry all figured out. They were best friends since they were _children_ but Louis never, _never_ would have guessed his kinkiness was _a front_.

“Is it a turn off? Did you like me because you thought I _knew_ stuff and had been around?” Harry’s voice is so, _so_ small.

“No. Jesus Christ, no. I mean, it’s fine if you had. But that’s not why I like you, why _I love you_. I love you because you’re an incredible person. And you make me happy.”

Harry takes a shaky breath. “You still think I’m sexy?”

Louis leans over and kisses his jaw. Into his ear, Louis whispers, “More sexy than anyone else I know.”

“Damn straight,” Harry says, jutting his jaw, like he’s never doubted himself, like Louis had been the one to raise the question of his sexiness, not Harry himself.

“I kind of like that we’re on more even ground than I’d thought,” Louis admits.

Harry giggles. “You’ve had more sex than me, probably.”

“Probably,” Louis agrees, because, weird as it seems, he probably has. Louis looks at Harry trying to process this new information.

Harry doesn’t look back; his gaze is on the television. He’s the same Harry Louis’ always known, bold and kinky and incredibly beautiful, but Louis can see his vulnerability more clearly than ever. Beneath all that is a layer of uncertainty, of fear.

To Louis, Harry’s always seemed like he had it all figured out: sex, school, his job. He’s always seemed to know _exactly_ what he wanted and to have the courage to go after it.

But now he realizes that maybe Harry doesn’t know _everything_ he wants and maybe some of the things he does know he wants, he’s too afraid to ask for.

“So,” Louis says. There’s booing on the television, but Louis manages to ignore it. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“You’re probably not a very good bottom,” Harry says. “Too bossy.”

“That is the first time anyone has ever suggested my bottom is anything less than absolutely perfect. You need to get your eyes checked.” Louis pulls off his shirt. Harry’s eyes linger on the inked numbers marking Louis chest.

“Alright,” Harry concedes. “You _do_ have a beautiful ass. I have always wondered…”

“What have you wondered?” Louis asks. He’s down to his boxers already, pants discarded soon after they’d gotten up to their room. He stands and bends over so that his ass is in Harry’s face. “Tell me more.”

Harry smacks him on his right cheek and then his left. “I’ve always wondered about rimming you.”

“Always?” Louis asks. He tries to picture sixteen year old Harry, tongue out as he jerked himself off, imaging licking Louis’ hole. Compelling an image as it is, he doesn’t buy it. “You didn’t even know that rimming was a thing in college. I’d put money on it.”

“I bet your hole tastes very pink,” Harry says.

“What does this mean? I thought you wanted to fuck me,” Louis reminds him. He’s standing facing Harry again, now.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good.”

~

Harry is careful with him- easing in slowly, finger by finger. He’s decided to save the rimming for another night, for which Louis is grateful. He’s wound up, mentally prepared for Harry’s dick in his ass. Soon.

Except that his nerves start to act up when Harry inserts the third. Louis’d done this to himself a few times to prepare, but it’s still a little painful.

Harry notices the moment Louis tenses up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine.” He takes a breath. “I’ve just got to get used to it. Haven’t-” -he takes another breath- “-done this as much as you.”

Louis feels Harry’s lips press against the top of his crack. “Hm,” he says.

And then, a moment later, “Can I try to move them now?”

Louis nods, but he’s on his hands and knees and he realizes that from behind Harry probably can’t tell. “Yeah,” he gasps out.

Harry’s very good with his hands, of course. He always has been and now, this is no exception. He’s sure and direct and careful and _yes._ He hits the spot.

“That’s- fuck- that’s it.”

“I love you,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” Louis breaths. He wants to reciprocate, he does. But he can’t seem to catch his breath.

Harry’s moving his fingers, in and out and in and out. It’s good. Louis’ never felt anything like shivery zip that shocks through him every time Harry touches his spot.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you?” Harry’s words are low. A whisper.

Louis nods again before remembering himself. “Yeah.”

His arms are starting to tire. He’s never given Harry enough credit for holding this position.

Harry extracts his fingers and Louis finds himself gasping again at the ache of the sudden emptiness.

“Why don’t you go down on your elbows?” Harry suggests. His voice is rough and when he reaches around to help Louis adjust the pillows, Louis feels his arousal pushing through his jeans.

Still, Harry takes his time undressing, leaning forward every few minutes to press kisses onto Louis’ back and bottom. Louis closes his eyes, savoring each touch, trying to keep his breathing calm and his ass relaxed.

Harry’s reaching over, digging in his pants pockets when he says, “Shit.”

“What?” Louis asks, turning his body to see Harry naked, hands on his hips, scowling at the pile of clothing on the floor.

“No condom. Fuck.” He glances at Louis. “And you’re all ready for me.”

“I’m clean,” Louis tells him. “El came down with something after we’d broken up- HPV or some shit- and called me up ranting, insisted I get tested. I did. Turns out that her problem had no connection to me- I’m clean. Didn’t have sex with anyone between her and you.”

Harry licks his lips. “I’ve never not used a condom before. Do you want to…”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “If it’s a risk. It’s worth it.”

Harry kisses him tenderly at the base of his spine. “It’s a big deal,” Harry says, as he lines himself up.

“You’re a big deal,” Louis returns.

Harry laughs, but then he adds, “I mean it. It really is a big deal.” His voice is rough and Louis doesn’t know which he means, that they’ve switched positions or that they are about to experience the feel of each other without even a thin layer of latex separating them.

Both seem pretty fucking important to Louis, but, “I’m ready. I want to.” Because he is and he _does_.

As Harry pushes in, he whispers, “Me too.”

Louis is not prepared for the feeling of Harry inside him. Nothing else, not fingers, not toys, _nothing,_ could be this hot, this alive, _this right_. He’s so full of Harry, he has no room for words, for thought, really.

He knows that Harry likes to be told what he likes, and that what Harry likes is a little rough and a little teasing.

But the way Harry is with him, now- it’s the opposite of rough.

Harry’s thrusts are gentle and measured and with each press inward he hisses out a word or two. _Lou_. _Love you_. _Love this. So good_. _I’m… fuck._

Louis soaks it up, letting Harry’s voice seep deep into his skin, hoping the rich tenderness of the moment doesn’t dry out for hours, days, years.

And when Harry comes inside him, it doesn’t feel gross, it feels intimate, warm and wet and close.

His shoulders give out and he lands on his stomach, his half-hard cock pressing against his stomach and the comforter, which they hadn’t bothered to pull back.

Harry recovers quickly, kissing Louis’ shoulder as he rolls him over. “Can I get you off?” he grates out.

His brow is sweaty and a lock of hair sticks to his forehead. Louis arches up to kiss him, meanwhile guiding his hand to Louis’ cock.

They continue to kiss, soft and sweet, as Harry tugs at him, hard and fast. The roughness would feel wrong, if it wasn’t exactly the way Louis likes it best. But it _is_ and Harry knows, knows that even as wrung out as Louis is, he wants it dirty and quick.

He comes, breathing harshly against Harry’s lips.

While they lay in each other’s arms both still panting, the announcers on television cheer.

“Fucking missed another great game because of you,” Louis murmurs, not opening his eyes.

Harry pokes him in the stomach. “That was a great game, what we just did.”

Louis gazes up at Harry through his lashes. He’s still flushed, but his breathing is evening out. He’s pushed the hair off from his forehead and now it’s sticking to cheek instead.

“You liked being the fuck-er, instead of the fuck-ee?” He hopes so. He wants to do this again.

Regularly, maybe even. Perhaps once he gets used to it they can rough it up even more.

Except. Harry’s leaving soon. Fuck.

“Yeah, I mean. It’d be alright, on occasion. I still think, like- the prostate is _magical_. I wouldn’t want to give up bottoming. And I’d like to see what it feels like to, um, have you come in me, you know?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah.” He flexes his ass, feeling the wetness. It’s beginning to feel gross, now. “That part I might not recommend.”

“You’ve really, like- Things between us- Our sex…” Harry doesn’t finish any of these thoughts. Instead, he looks at Louis.

Louis tries to finish them for him. Dramatically. “You’ve really changed my life, Louis? Things between us are better than I ever imagined? Our sex is the best sex I’ve ever witnessed, even counting porn?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I wanted to say.”

He sounds sincere.

Fuck.

Louis swallows and holds his gaze. “That’s all, um. That’s all true for me, too.”

Harry leans forward and kisses him.

When he pulls away, Louis says, “Having you here all the time has been incredible. You’re, like, you’re my anchor. Please don’t leave. I need you to hold me down.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking, whether he’s begging Harry never to end it between them, whether he’s pressing Harry not go back to Chicago, whether he’s just hoping Harry won’t walk away in the night.

Harry bites his lip. He clearly doesn’t know how to respond. God, Louis’ such a sentimental idiot.

“If I’m your anchor, you have to be my rope.”

Their eyes meet and Louis relaxes. He thinks Harry might actually feel what he feels; Harry might actually be as tied to him as he is to Harry.

Then, Harry waggles his eyebrows. “What I’m saying is, I want you to tie me up.”

That startles a laugh out of Louis. “Oh, is that what you’re saying?”

Harry nods.

~

Louis squints at the windshield, the early morning sunshine blinding him. He’d left his sunglasses in Harry’s jeep more than a week ago now and he keeps forgetting to grab them.

Harry reaches over and places his own sunglasses awkwardly on Louis’ face.

Louis adjusts them and then takes Harry’s hand into his own, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I was serious last night.”

“You’re always serious about baseball,” Harry says, taking a sip Louis’ gas station coffee. He’d claimed he hadn’t wanted any for himself, that he planned to sleep the whole way home. Louis’d known better and filled a styrofoam cup big enough for both of them.

“I’m not talking about baseball,” Louis replies, shooting him a glare.

“You’re _always_ talking about baseball.”

Lies. Louis barely ever talks about baseball, especially with Harry. He would say as much, but his mind is set on something else, something more important, and he doesn’t have the patience for bickering.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

Harry’s grip on Louis’ hand tightens.

“I don’t plan on leaving you, Lou. Not ever.” His voice is soft, not quite a whisper, but almost. “Even when I go back to Chicago, and I am going back, I’m not leaving _you_. We’ll figure out a way to make it work. I know we will.”

To Louis, his words sound like a promise.

Rationally, Louis knows he’s not going to be able to keep that promise, but he sounds like he wants to. And maybe that’s enough for Louis. For now.

“Okay,” Louis says.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: When asked earlier, I wasn't kidding about them being 'versatile' and that's all I'm going to say about that. In here we have embarrassing parents, a real date!, underage sex referenced, and barebacking- they have a conversation about it, but they’re still not as safe as I’d recommend being in real life (get tested regularly kiddos and always glove up if you’re not 100% sure of your partner’s history). 
> 
> Also, the movie they watch in this chapter is not supposed to be a depiction of any particular movie. It’s an amalgamation of many movies I’ve seen/read about. 
> 
> Also, also. If you thought this couldn't possibly become any fluffier, you were wrong.


	9. September 2015 Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy few weeks and a lot of re-writing meant a major delay in posting. I apologize. I expect the next (and likely last) chapter to go up March 7. 
> 
> Spoliery warnings at the end.

 

Niall strums a few happy chords on his guitar. “So…” he says.

Louis is trying not to watch Harry across the room. That’s pretty much all he wants to do these days: watch Harry, listen to Harry, kiss Harry, get Harry off.

Time’s running out for them. So even though he doesn’t want Niall know how serious things have gotten and he doesn’t want to let Liam know anything at all, Louis can’t help himself. In a month, Harry won’t be here. Louis won’t be able to stare at him, not around the other guys, not ever.

Harry licks his lips and watches Louis in return.

“So,” Niall says again. “We’re going to record on Friday, that’s in _three_ days. Who’s got a new song idea? I think we can probably manage to fine tune and edit one more before Harry’s out of here.”

Harry looks down and then up again.

At the same time, he and Louis both say, “I’ve got one.”

They laugh. Liam and Niall do not.

“God, you guys are creepy. Been spending way too much time together,” Liam tells them. He’s got Niall’s laptop open on his lap and is squinting at the screen, doing God knows what, when an alert rings through the speakers.

Liam jumps and almost knocks the machine off his lap.

“Sophia’s lucky you caught that,” Niall says. “That shit is _expensive_. Not a lot of extra cash around here these days.”

Liam ignores him. “It’s Zayn. On Skype. You still Skype with Zayn?”

Niall shrugs and nods.

Niall has a camera on his laptop and WiFi in his little apartment above the bar. He’s probably the only one of them that _could_ Skype with Zayn.

“I’m gonna answer it,” Liam says.

“Don’t. No one wants to talk to that fucker,” Louis says, but he hopes Liam continues ignoring him and answers anyway. He hasn’t talked to Zayn since the Fourth. That was _months_ ago now.

“Hey, man,” Liam says to the screen. He moves his face back and forth in front of it. “Woah. Trippy.”

“Liam!” Zayn sounds delighted. He always did like Liam best. Or maybe Niall.

The asshole.

“We’re all here. We’re recording a One Direction _album_. Not the same without you,” Liam tells him.

“It’s better,” Louis shouts across the room, even though it isn’t.

“How’s Gigi doing?” Harry asks, thoughtfully, also shouting and over-enunciating.

Liam turns the screen toward them.

“Um, Gigi? What? And Louis, has anyone ever told you that you complain too much.”

“I have,” Harry volunteers, even though he hasn’t. To Niall, wide-eyed he mouths, “Still keeping his girlfriend a secret from you, eh?”

Niall glares at him. Aloud, he says, “Speaking of secrets, Harry and Louis were just about to share with us their new song ideas,” he says. “Would you like to hear them?”

Liam’s brows pull together. “Who was speaking of secrets. No one here has any secrets, do they?”

Louis takes a shaky breath. God, volunteering was a very, very bad idea.

“No secrets, Liam, you’re right,” Louis says at the same time as Harry chirps, “I have a secret.”

Louis shakes his head and sighs, but it’s mostly a show.

He should be more annoyed than he is. And definitely more _scared_. Because the way Niall and Harry are going on, Liam and Zayn will be able to figure out his secret- _their_ secret- any moment. He’s not afraid of that, though, he realizes, not really. He’s much more nervous about how they’ll react to his song.

“I’m changing my mind. Let’s just do Harold’s,” Louis announces.

“You that intimidated by me?” Zayn asks.

“Shut up, no.”

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Harry puts in. “Then Louis.”

“Fine,” Louis says, moving the dog-eared notebook where he’s scribbled the drafted lyrics from his lap to under his thighs. He wants to be able to focus on what Harry’s written.

Harry’s written a love song. A happy, hopeful one.

He sings the chorus first- a plea for his lover to be with him _happily_. But despite the tone of the lyrics, Harry frowns the entire time he’s singing it to them, shooting Louis occasional long looks.

He hesitates before singing the verses. “Should I go on?”

“Yes,” Louis answers.

Niall laughs.

“I hate it,” Zayn shouts from the computer. “I’m not signing it.”

Harry flicks him off, but Louis doesn’t think the camera catches it, so he says, “Fuck off. Nobody asked you to.”

Harry bites his lip. Louis can tell that he’s holding back a smile and he tries not to feel smug about it. “Keep going,” he presses.

The song is so good.

Maybe Louis is biased. Probably. But Niall and Liam are jamming along, too.

Zayn’s not and Louis thinks he might even be listening to something else (softly), but he doesn’t count, not anymore anyway.

“So, hey,” Zayn says, after a few minutes of conversation about Harry’s significant talent- he could probably be a pop star, in Louis’ opinion. He’s got the musical ability, the looks, and the wardrobe. Anyway, Louis is not finished complimenting the song or the songwriter, when Zayn interrupts.

“I have to go soon. But I’m not leaving without hearing whatever trash Louis has thought up.” Zayn’s tone is affectionate and by ‘trash’ Louis knows he means ‘treasure.’

“It’s a love song, too,” he admits.

“Of course it’s a love song,” Liam says. “We’re a _boyband._ All our songs are supposed to be about beautiful girls that we’re really in love with.”

Louis forces himself to chuckle. “Right.”

“Well,” Harry drawls. “Wouldn’t _Will_ write songs pining for _Eddie_ , not some beautiful ‘girl’…”

“You two are still at it, then?” Zayn asks. “Glad to hear things haven’t changed that much.”

“Oh they’re at it, all right,” Niall pipes in. Then, he giggles.

Liam’s frowning at Harry who’s looking down in his lap and trying to hide a maniacal grin. “I’d never thought about this. But maybe we should get rid of that storyline cause like, cause Harry’s, like, you know…”

Harry looks up and makes eye contact with Louis. “I don’t mind, if Louis doesn’t mind.”

Louis adjusts his shirt.

“Don’t you think one of them would have made a move after all these years. Will or Eddie, I mean,” Zayn says. He’s smoking and the screen is pixelated enough that Louis can’t tell whether he’s holding a regular cigarette or a joint.

Right now, Louis would take either.

But preferably the cigarette.

“Oh definitely one of them would have made a move,” Niall says. “But which one…?”

“I need a smoke,” Louis says. “Bye, Zayn.”

He hears Zayn call through the speakers as he walks to the door. “You fucker. I wanted to hear your song…”

Over his shoulder, Louis calls back, “If you really wanted to hear it, you’d get your ass back to Lake County.”

And with that, he slams the door.

~

Liam and Niall and Harry all like Louis’ song. In fact, they like it so much, they can’t decide whether to record it or the one Harry’d written. No one even wants to take a vote.

Which is fine; Louis doesn’t know which he’d vote for, anyway.

(Not true. He’d vote for Harry’s, obviously.)

(It’s just _so_ hopeful.)

They argue for a while about whether or not they can do both or whether they should leave it alone and do neither. In the end, it’s a waste of a day.

Louis and Harry do not talk about their songs with each other. It’d be too weird, Louis thinks. Louis’ song speaks for itself; just the idea of putting it any more plainly makes him feel naked.

Niall cancels the recording session set for Friday, anyway, because baby Theo’s sick with a bad cold and he has to work so that Greg and Lara can take him into Urgent Care.

So Louis assumes that’s the end of it. Harry will leave for Chicago and One Direction will disband (again) and they’ll never speak of the sappy, over-the-top love songs they’d written _for each other._

Except that Liam brings Louis’ song up a few days later, out of the blue .

Louis’d agreed to help Liam paint his front porch, a decision he regrets. It’s a sunny afternoon and Louis is trying not to wish that he was spending it with Harry instead; it might be one of the last they have together.

They’re more than halfway finished, when Liam says, “I keep thinking about your song. I know it’s not supposed to be deep. Maybe even you meant to be supper sappy with it. But that’s how it really feels for me, man. Sophia _is_ my home.”

Louis blinks at him, brush stopped midstroke.

In fact, he had not meant to be ‘super sappy,’ but he hadn’t minded that that’s what the other boys would think. To him, Harry feels like home, too.

He resumes painting.

“Marriage has turned you into a wuss.”

“Oh, fuck off. I fell in love with Sophia the day we met, so what?! You’re the one who wrote the damn song.”

After a moment, Liam adds, “But I think... actually, maybe, you’re right.”

They’re quiet for a minute.

Louis can’t resist. “Tell me why I’m right.”

“Marriage has changed things. Before it was a lot about passion, you know? She’s always been _smokin’_ hot. But now, yeah. Now, she’s home.” Liam’s leaning over onto his freshly painted railing, his front and front now surely spotted in white. But he looks so serene, gazing off into the distance, thinking about his wife. Louis decides not to tell him about the paint, not yet, anyway.

Instead, Louis agrees with him, “It’s incredible finding someone who feels that way.”

He takes a breath. He knows what he’s said and so he’s not surprised by Liam’s question.

“You found someone like that then? Eleanor? I’m sorry about how that ended, man.”

Louis returns to his painting and takes another breath. It’s time to do this. Hell, it’s past time to do this. “Not Eleanor, Harry.”

Liam coos. “That’s sweet. You really needed a best friend after Zayn left and I know I’m too wrapped up with Sophia and Dale to be that for you.”

Louis forces a smile. “No. I mean, yeah. Harry’s my best friend, again. But he’s more than that.”

“What?”

Louis can’t look at Liam. He’s not making this easy. “Harry and I are more than friends.”

“You are?” Liam says. “Like brothers, you mean.”

“Not brothers, no. Gross, Liam.”

As if.

“What’s gross about being brothers with Harry? Are you being homophobic? Cause that’s not cool.”

Liam is so fucking stupid sometimes.

“Mine and Harry’s relationship is the opposite of homophobic.”

Liam’s arms are folded over his chest. “You’re really confusing me.”

“Think about it, Liam. _The opposite of homophobic…”_

“Your relationship is pro-gay?”

“Very,” Louis agrees. “Very, very pro-gay.”

“Do you go to gay bars with him in Chicago?” Liam asks.

Louis doesn’t answer.

“You didn’t march with PFLAG…” Liam accuses. “I think if you were pro-gay you probably would have. You should work on that.”

“I’m not a parent or friend,” Louis says, feeling himself smiling. It’s absurd how difficult this is. Niall’d walked in on them and Matty and Elaine had just _assumed_.

It’s like Liam doesn’t _want_ to see it, like he can’t even imagine it.

Louis contemplates letting the subject drop. Harry’s leaving soon; in a few weeks this won’t even matter anymore.

“You literally just said…” Liam sputters. He’s getting angry. “I hate it when you tease me like this. I know you think it’s funny as fuck, Louis. But just fucking say what you mean. I’m dumb. There, I said it. I’m an idiot. You’re smarter than me. God damn it.”

Liam finishes by whacking his fist against the wet front door.

“God damn it,” he says, again, this time inspecting the side of his hand.

“Y’all right there?” Louis asks, raising a brow. “Need to go downstairs and hit your punching bag a few times?”

Liam glares at him and rubs his hand on his already paint smeared jeans. “Just fucking tell me what’s going on.”

Louis frowns. He doesn’t know where to start. “It’s not a big deal. Nothing long term or anything.”

Liam’s face remains dark and he doesn’t say anything.

Louis begins to paint again. He tries to sound flip, casual, chill. “We’re sort of dating, me and Harry. But, yeah, it’s just a temporary thing.”

Sort of dating. A temporary thing. Where they tell each other they love each other. And live together. And know each other better than anyone else in the world.

Liam’s frown intensifies and Louis stomach flips over. He doesn’t approve. _Fuck_. He’d thought because Liam already knew about Harry he’d-

“Don’t lie to me,” Liam says. “I’m tired of your teasing. We’re grown-ups. Fucking stop.”

 _Oh_. Louis swallows and adjusts his shirt. “I’m not teasing. That’s, like. Yeah. Harry’s my boyfriend. For now.”

“Really?” Liam says, voice dark. “Since when do you have _boy_ friends?”

 _“_ Since Harry and I agreed that’s what we were.”

“Which was when?” Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees that Liam’s shaking his head like he thinks Louis is continuing to fuck with him.

“A little over a month ago.”

“Really?” Liam’s voice pitches up and Louis turns to look at him. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are a bit glassy. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Really.”

Liam opens his mouth and then closes it.

“Harry and I are boyfriends,” Louis says again, with more feeling, liking the way it sounds aloud.

Liam smiles at him for a long moment, eyes glassier still. _Is he going to cry?_

“That’s so great,” Liam breathes. “That’s…. Wow.” He giggles. “Wow.”

“You’re not going to call us faggots or be weird about touching us or anything?” Liam’s been great with Harry this summer, but Louis doesn’t trust it. He’s the most conservative of his friends, but mostly because he takes his mother’s word on politics and she takes the word of her priest and Fox News.

“That’s not fair,” Liam says. “Have I ever done that to Harry?”

“It’s different. Like, Harry’s special.” Harry is, too. He’s _so_ special. Louis doesn’t think it’s _possible_ to dislike him, not if you _really_ know him, which Liam, of course, does. “Everybody sort of knows about him and likes him anyway. Especially cause he’s never, like, brought anyone home.”

“I know you and like you, too,” Liam says, scrunching up his face. “Most of the time. When you’re not fucking with me. Give yourself more credit. Give _me_ more credit. People around here _love_ you.” He pauses. Then, he adds, “I love you, bro. No matter what you like to do in bed, or whatever.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes. Louis finds himself smiling as he works.

Liam loves him. Liam thinks it’s going to be okay.

Liam continues to send him encouraging smiles. And they feel so good, better than Matty and Elaine’s questions about commitment and marriage, way less awkward than Niall’s wide-eyed panic.

Maybe he’s been underestimating Liam. Maybe he should have told Liam sooner.

He takes the thought back when Liam says, “A temporary thing, though? Don’t you think, like…?” Liam leans onto the wet railing. Again. “You guys have been best friends forever. Temporary seems… wrong.”

Louis’ shoulders are tense. His whole body is tense. “Harry’s leaving soon, so…”

“Wow,” Liam says, standing tall again. “Just wow.”

“What?” Louis says, he’s finished painting the section of the porch in front of him, but he doesn’t want to make eye contact with Liam right now so he pretends to go over it again, brush mostly dry.

“You went after me so hard about chasing Sophia. You were always telling me to show her how much I wanted her, that I still liked her even after she’d had a kid and gotten divorced. Maybe you should take your own advice. Tell Harry that you don’t want it to end. Because I know you don’t.”

Louis huffs out a breath. “Maybe I do want it to end.”

“Come on. Those songs you wrote- Home. I mean, Louis that is not a temporary, summer romance song. That’s a forever song. You gotta let him know that.”

Louis shifts, the section of the porch behind Liam still needs another coat of paint. But Louis is itching for an escape. A cigarette and beer run. A call from his mom. Anything.

“He heard the song, Liam.”

“Yeah, but like. Sometimes with Soph, I’ve realized, like, I think I’ve had a conversation with her, but I haven’t actually had the full conversation with her, you know? Sometimes I have to put a little extra effort in, let her know how I feel _exactly_ , like in words, maybe with a present.”

Louis smirks. “Marriage is really teaching you a lot.”

Liam grins, too. He looks down at his hands and then up at Louis. “Yeah, it is. I love being married. Just knowing she’ll always be there and that she knows that I’ll always be there. Even when other stuff is hard, like, having that changes everything.”

That does sound nice. Perfect, even. Not at all like the conflict-ridden marriages he’s seen his mom trapped in. It sounds like what marriage should be like, done right.

“You gotta talk to Harry,” Liam presses.

“I _gotta_ smoke a cigarette. That’s the only thing I _gotta_ do,” Louis tells him, putting the paint brush down and nodding toward his truck, where he’s left his pack.

Grabbing the smooshed box off his front seat, he sees his notepad with _Home_ ’s lyrics scribbled on it and he admits (only to himself) that Liam might be right. For once.

He should talk to Harry, tell him how he really feels, what he really wants.

 

~

The problem is that Louis doesn’t know the right time or way to tell Harry that he wants him to stick around with Louis in Edwardsville _forever_.

He thinks about telling him after dinner that night, but the baseball game isn’t going well and he feels more like cussing than professing his undying love, so he goes out to the barn to shoot hoops by himself instead.

And he thinks about telling Harry over breakfast, but Harry’s distracted, squinting sideways at a half decorated birthday cake and greeting Louis absently a minute or two after he’s come down for breakfast.

When Louis gets in from a job with Robin the next afternoon, Harry is at the stove, putting dinner together and Louis wraps his arms around his waist and really _tries_.

“I love you,” he says. “I love having you here, at the Farmhouse. I can’t imagine life without you.” Harry hums and turns to kiss him, but misses his mouth and smacks wet lips to his chin instead, before returning to pour a heap of meat from one pan into another.

Louis keeps his arms wrapped loosely around Harry, not ready for the subject to drop.

“I love you, too, Louis.” Harry allows, pushing the food around in the flying pan with a wooden spoon. “And I’ve loved living here. The kitchen is amazing, for one thing.”

“The kitchen. Okay.” Louis drops his arms and Harry laughs.

“And the company.” He turns around again. “I mean it. I love living here with you.”

This seems romantic and true and communicative to Louis, but it doesn’t change the fact that Harry is _leaving_.

That night, after they’ve pulled each other off amidst a series of sweet, heated kisses, Louis says, “Please don’t leave me.”

Harry nuzzles his cheek, and says, “I’ll never leave you.”

They say these words all the time, true, but with Harry’s return to Chicago coming up so quickly, Louis hopes they’re beginning to mean as much to Harry as they do to him.

But he doesn’t think they do.

~

A couple nights later, after Louis has spent the afternoon running errands for his mom to the bank and the grocery store and the computer repair shop, Harry’s not around when he gets home.

He texts to ask him where he’s at.

_Helping Cara and Kendall pack for Chicago._

Louis takes a shaky breath. _When are they leaving? Are you going with them?_

He already knows the answer. It’s September 24. Harry’d said his job started in October. Louis thought they’d have a little more time. But this makes sense. Of course, Harry would want to go back to Chicago early, get settled.

It wouldn’t be practical for him to spend every last minute he has here in Edwardsville. Louis is an idiot.

Harry sends him a text and then another and another.

_Yeah, we’re going together. On Sunday._

_Dinner with the family tomorrow. And I hoped you and I could spend the day together on Saturday._

_So that leaves tonight for helping them pack._

Louis is panicking now because-

_Shit._

Because Harry is really leaving.

Louis has said all the words he has. Well, he hasn’t flat out asked Harry to leave his job in Chicago and live with him on in the Farmhouse, but he’s hinted at it _a lot_.

He thinks about his conversation with Liam about marriage and about Harry. He pictures Liam’s furrowed brow and paint-covered forearms. Liam had said with Sophia he used words and sometimes _gifts._

That’s what Louis needs. The perfect gift.

~

Louis drives into Glen River the next day to look. He knows the little strip with the boutiques and art galleries is where his mom does most of her fancy holiday shopping. Somewhere around here, she’d bought Louis a grey sweater, soft and tight-fitting, which he had no occasion to wear since unwrapping it Christmas morning. His first thought as he’d pulled it out of its box had been that it looked like something _Will_ would wear.

He imagines pulling the sleeves down over his fingers like gloves, as he drives over to spend Christmas afternoon with Harry’s family. He wants that. He wants that _so badly_.

He parks right in front of the store he thinks most likely to have something for Harry, a jewelry and clothing shop called Potter’s that carries both men’s and women’s merchandise.

The shop smells like pine cones and Louis’ shoes squeak a little on the shiny wood floor. He walks over to the men’s section. The polo shirts and heavy sweaters and khaki pants look like they belong on someone’s rich grandpa.

He’s the only person in the store aside from the girl behind the register who hasn’t said ‘hello’ but is watching him closely. She doesn’t look older than Felicite and he wonders if she should be in school and whether she knows his sister.

“Hey,” he says, walking over to her. “Do you know if there’s anywhere else that sells men’s, um-“

He cuts off, eyes landing on a display of rings underneath the glass countertop. “Those are- Can I see the one in the front?”

The girl frowns at him as she pulls out the pillow of rings. The one that’s caught Louis’ interest is a silver rope with a knot in the shape of infinity on it’s broad face.

“You don’t really seem like a ring-type of guy,” the girl comments as he lifts it up to inspect it more closely.

“I’m, um,” Louis stutters and then he looks her in the eye. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

But as he slides the ring onto his ring finger, he realizes what she means. His hands are flecked with paint and his nails are short and dirty. The bottom of the ring rubs up against a callus on his palm.

It fits, though, and he thinks Harry’s fingers are probably a similar size. He’s smaller than Harry, sure, but his limbs have always seemed thicker and more compact. Should balance out. Probably. If not maybe Harry can wear it on a chain.

He wants Harry to wear this ring, he realizes. He wants Harry to _always_ wear this ring.

“I’ll take it,” he murmurs.

“You’re in that fake boyband, aren’t you? One Direction, right?” The girl asks. “You were really funny at Strawberry Fest. Are you gonna play again sometime soon?”

“No,” he answers, about to explain that one of their members is heading out of town, permanently. But as she wraps the ring in tissue paper, a bubble of hope rises in his chest. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Convincing Harry to stay. With him. Here. Forever. “Actually, maybe. I’ll let you know.”

“Cool. You can hang a poster up in here, if you want,” she says, with a little bob of her head. She might be flirting with him. She’s pretty and probably not _too_ young, if she’s not in school, but he doesn’t care. “Do you want this boxed up or is just a bag okay?”

“Boxed,” Louis answers. He’s imagining gifting it now, pulling it out of his pocket as he explains to Harry how much he means to him and what he hopes their future will hold, _together._

The girl sets the ring in small box made of cheap brown cardboard with a stamp of the store’s logo on the lid and Louis wants to protest. Rings like this one are supposed to come in velvet boxes. But, he supposes, he’s only paying forty bucks for the thing, so maybe that doesn’t cover fancy wrapping. Maybe he can dig one up in his mom’s old room or something.

She hands him a small paper bag with the ring inside, along with his receipt.

“Thank you,” he tells her.

She winks at him and he wonders what she thinks she knows.

~

Harry’s frying up eggs when Louis steps into the kitchen. He smiles at Louis and offers him the three he’s got in his pan. Louis nods and leans against the counter to watch him work.

“I thought we could go out to the rope swing this afternoon. I could try for a flip one last time this summer. It’s supposed to be pretty warm in the middle of the day,” Harry says, lifting the eggs from the pan to a plate and handing it to Louis, who shivers at the idea.

Sixty-five degrees is not fucking warm enough to swim in the river, in his humble opinion.

Louis digs a fork out of a drawer. “I’ve got other plans for us, if that’s alright.”

“Really?” Harry asks, disbelief clear as he cracks a few more eggs into the pan. They sizzle dramatically.

“I thought we’d go for a hike and picnic,” Louis tells him. He wants their destination to be a surprise. He’d found an old ski trail last summer that he’s sure Harry’s never been on.

“Oh? I had a few things I wanted to get done this morning. Then, I thought we’d spend the afternoon and evening together. I thought you might have a job with Robin, today, actually,” Harry explains.

Through a bite of egg, Louis says, “I wanted to spend our last day together, _together_ , so I asked for it off.”

Harry puts his own now steaming eggs onto a plate. He salts and peppers them before digging in. “Louis. Like, it won’t be the last time we’ll ever see each other or anything. I thought you were okay with trying to figure things out, even if we had to be long distance for a while. We’re not breaking up, are we?”

Louis bites back a smile. He’s already figured it out, is the thing. If Harry agrees.

“Of course we’re not breaking up. I just thought it might be nice to spend the day together, that’s all.”

Harry’s fork clanks against his plate. Louis’ own plate is empty and he sets it in the sink and rinses it off. Then, he takes Harry’s now empty plate out of his hands.

“Do we even have food for a picnic?” Harry asks, skeptically, walking over to the fridge and opening it.

“Yeah, we do,” Louis replies. “I told you. I have a plan.”

Harry pulls out a sandwich inside a plastic baggie. “When did you make these?”

Louis shrugs.

In the middle of the night last night. But he’s not going to tell Harry that. It seems a little dramatic. And Louis wants it all to be a _surprise._

“Well, I suppose I can do my packing and stuff tonight or tomorrow. Maybe Kendall and Cara will help.” He takes a bag of apples out of the fridge and shakes his head. “You really planned a romantic day for us?”

He’s smiling, happy. _Really happy_. Louis wants to always make him this happy. _Always._

 _“_ I did.”

Harry walks over to where Louis is standing and leans in for a long kiss. When he pulls back he says, “Let me change and then I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

~

Of course, packing up the lunches and loading them into the truck takes about an hour longer than Louis expects. He’d forgotten to buy ranch dressing for the carrots at the grocery store in Lakeland and so he runs out while Harry’s upstairs to pick some up from the gas station down the road.

He’s out of cigarettes, too, so he picks up a couple of packs and smokes one quickly out the window of his truck on the way home.

Then, his backpack isn’t in his closet like he expects it to be and when he finds it under his bed, he realizes that a packet of lube has exploded in the bottom of it. He’s cleaning it out in the sink when Harry wanders back into the room.

He’s wearing a black tee shirt with a sleeveless flannel over it and one of Louis’ grandpa’s fishing hats on his head. A red and white lure swings in the back of it.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks and then he laughs. “Of course, you aren’t. You want me to finish up, um, whatever you’re doing while you go take off those sweats and put on something a little more hike-appropriate.”

Harry’s offer is tempting. But Louis really wants this day to be _for him_ , one he remembers for a long time, for forever.

He shakes his head. “I’m almost done.”

He puts lunch into the sack and then fills a couple of bottles of water. Harry looks at him sideways when he takes the whole thing with him into his bedroom.

Louis is still trying to decide whether it would be better to bring the ring in the sack or in his pocket. He’d found a ring box in his mom’s Christmas wrapping storage. (She’d kept it here when they moved because it made Santa’s gifts easier to hide from the twins.) But the red velvet box is a little bulky in his pants pocket, even if Louis wears Cargo shorts instead of basketball shorts. He sticks it inside a front zip of the pack and then taps it with his palm. He doesn’t think the box shows. Much.

He takes a shaky breath and turns to look at himself in the mirror. He gives himself a careful onceover and decides he appears totally normal. Totally. He smiles at himself and whispers ‘ _good luck_ ’ to his reflection.

He’s gonna need it.

~

Louis is tempted to drive with the backpack in his lap. Harry’s not as bad as Louis is about snooping, but he might get curious. Or hungry. That would be just Louis’ luck.

Instead, trying to play it cool- so, so cool-, he lays the pack behind him, on top of a paint covered sweatshirt. Harry watches him as he buckles up. He’s wearing a soft smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as Louis turns around to back out of the driveway.

“For what? Doing what a boyfriend should do and planning a romantic goodbye?” Louis voice is too cutting. God, he’s not pulling off cool, not at all.

His heart is pounding and his truck’s engine is rattling and he is so, _so_ fucked. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel as he tries to think of something to say to break the tense silence.

Harry beats him to it. “I’m, like, I’m sorry that I have to go back to Chicago.”

Louis doesn’t look back at the bag. He blinks and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Hopefully, Harry _won’t_ be going back. If things go right, Harry will stay here. With him. Forever.

“I mean it, Lou. I can tell you are upset. I am, too, but yeah.” Harry’s watching Louis closely, brows drawn together. “We’ll make it work; I know we can.”

Louis draws a breath. Harry’s right, _they can_. He feels the smile teasing at his lips. Harry’s right and he has no idea what’s coming. “Let’s not talk about that- the future. Let’s just enjoy the afternoon.”

“If you say so,” Harry agrees, but he’s quiet after that.

Louis needs to find a way to distract him, to cheer him up. Today is supposed to be _good_ \- Harry’s supposed to spend it laughing at Louis’ jokes, remembering how Lake County is the most beautiful place in the world, his _home._

“Have you heard that Sophia is trying to get Liam to dye his hair?” He’d seen Soph’s post on Facebook last night.

“Grey,” Harry says. “She thinks it’ll make him look sophisticated, give him a little more authority.”

Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Do you think she calls him ‘daddy’?”

Harry giggles. “I should call _you_ ‘daddy.’”

It’s kind of weird. But.

A picture of Harry on his knees, lips wet flashes in his mind. Louis swallows and adjusts his shirt. Maybe.

Clearing his throat, Louis says, “Remember the time we dyed Niall’s hair purple two summers ago.”

“Lavender,” Harry corrects. “Where did we even find that color?”

“Lou helped, I think. God, that was a crazy summer.” Harry hadn’t been home for much of it and neither had Liam. Niall’s cousin had been, though. He was in school downstate had been able to provide them with a steady stream of cheap, potent weed. The good stuff.

Louis and Eleanor had almost broken up three times that August. Not because of the pot- Eleanor knew how to party- but because of Louis’ moodiness. That was the summer it’d really hit, living alone in that big house. And he hadn’t wanted Eleanor to join him, even though she’d made it clear she was more than willing to.

“Better than this summer, I’m sure. Less boring,” Harry says.

Louis turns to look at him. He’s smirking, so Louis says, “Yeah, way better.” Then, he reaches over, lays a hand on Harry’s thigh, and squeezes. “This summer was the worst.”

Harry pouts, his eyes soft. “I love you.”

Louis tries to concentrate on the road, but he knows the route by heart and Harry’s _right_ there. “I love you, too.”

Harry links their fingers together and keeps them in his lap.

~

A few minutes later, Harry turns off Louis’ CD (an even mix of ACDC and Ludacris and Everclear) and flips on the Fox. “What is this shit you’re listening to? And where are we going?”

Louis’d been anticipating the question. He’s a little surprised it’s taken this long. “It’s _music_. And we are going on a hike; I already told you that.”

“Yes, but I don’t know _where_ we’re going to hike.” The comment is mild as if Harry isn’t the least bit bothered by this. Louis is not fooled. Harry always likes to know where he is and where he’s going. In fact, of the two of them, he’s usually the one in the driver’s seat.

(They’d almost gotten into a fight last week when Louis had accused him of being a control freak. The argument had dissolved to giggles after Harry shouted, “At least, I’m not fucking Niall.”

They’d both known he meant at least he wasn’t as controlling as Niall. Still, Louis’d replied, “I knew it. I fucking knew it. That kid is a sleaze, but I had no idea he’d steep so low as to try and steal my _boyfriend_.”

To which Harry’d replied, thoughtfully, “Would we really call him a sleaze? I mean, it’s not like he takes advantage…”

“He hit on Fizzy the Friday before Edwardsville Days. You were there; you saw,” Louis had pressed. Niall’s lucky he hadn’t gotten kicked in his balls for that, but they’d been at Horan’s for dinner and Louis had wanted his drinks on the house.

“She definitely made the first move,” Harry’d said. And then, “But I’m sorry, Lou. I know I can be a little, like, particular.”

Not how Louis’d have put it, but he’s happy to know Harry’s sort of self-aware.)

Louis says, “I want to surprise you. It’s a good surprise. You’ll like it.”

“Have I been there before?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I’m sure I’ve been there. I’ve lived in Lake County my whole life. Wait. Are we going out of Lake County? Lou?”

Louis tries to hold back the smile. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Harry huffs and looks out the window. “I don’t see why you won’t tell me. As soon as we get there, I’ll know.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Louis says, turning up the radio. Randy Meisner croons, “ _This night is gonna last forever. Last all, last all summer long.”_

Louis fucking loves the Eagles. Fucking yes.

~

When Louis pulls up at the trailhead, Harry’s frowning.

“You still have no idea where we are?” Louis asks, trying to push back his own grin.

Harry pouts and opens his door. “I know exactly where we are.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees, seeing the uncertainty in Harry’s eye. Harry’s nervous enough to _lie,_ apparently. Maybe the prospect of leaving Louis is throwing him off as well. Louis can hope.

He reaches into the back to pull out the, thankfully, untouched pack and hops out of the truck, hoisting it up on to his shoulders. It’s heavier than he expects.

“Do you want me to get it?” Harry offers, as though he’s the one with the stronger back. He’s not, of course. Also, Louis is hellbent not to let the ring out of his possession.

“I’ve got it. This is my thing; I’m doing it for you,” Louis insists.

Harry shrugs. “You’re being really weird.”

“You are,” Louis bites back and then, gesturing toward the (very, very faint) trail, he adds, “Come on. Let’s go. Fuck.”

~

A few minutes into the hike Louis remembers that today is supposed to be about romance and commitment, not about sarcasm and nerves. He pushes Harry up against a tree, looks deeply into his eyes and then kisses him.

When they break the kiss, a yellow leaf hangs from one of the curls resting on Harry’s shoulder. Louis doesn’t mention it. Even after a summer of seeing his silky shirts every morning and his naked body every night, this is still how Louis likes Harry best: comfy, relaxed, and just a little dirty, his lips pink from rubbing against Louis’ week-old stubble.

~

They’re arguing over Harry’s supposed basketball skills, specifically whether or not he’d drilled the winning shot in a game against Glen River his senior year, when Louis realizes the end of the trail is near.

“I made the shot. I’m the first to admit I’m not LeBron James, but I kicked ass that day. You _know._ You were _there,_ ” Harry insists.

Louis shakes his head. Harry’s lucky enough that it could be true. But, “I don’t remember it. If that happened, I’d definitely remember. I’d have carried you around the gym piggyback, lost my voice screaming for you.”

“You _did_.” Harry shakes his head, mouth open. Then, he leans closer, and murmurs into Louis’ ear, “I can think of some other ways you could lose your voice. Better ones.”

“Can I blindfold you?” Louis asks.

“What? Really?” Harry stops and Louis has to stop as well and turn around.

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “I mean, yeah, of course. Kinky- outdoor blindfolded sex.”

Louis laughs. “ _You_ are the kinky one, Jesus. We’re almost there and I want to blindfold you so you’ll be really surprised.”

“I think I know,” Harry says. “Like, I know, I know. I saw which roads you took to get here and we’ve been going uphill for close to a mile now.”

Louis tilts his head. Genuine surprise was probably too much to expect. Still, Harry could play along, at least.

Also, Louis does have another surprise. A real one. “Will you do this for me? Please?”

Harry smiles. “Okay, I trust you.” He closes his eyes and waits.

Louis pulls a navy blue bandana from his bag- he’d found it on his dresser and he thinks it might be Harry’s. He folds it carefully into a blindfold and ties it around Harry’s head, trying not to pull any of his hair.

He waves his hand in front of Harry’s face.

“I can’t see anything,” Harry tells him. His voice is even and low.

Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, presses a kiss to his temple, and says, “Come on. I’ll lead you.”

“Don’t let me trip on a root,” Harry warns.

“I won’t.”

“Or fall into a hole.”

“Have you seen any holes out here big enough for you to fall into?” Louis has seen that kind of thing in movies, but not in real life.

“You never know,” Harry says. “Today could be the day.”

Harry does trip, but only once and on his own feet. He hisses out a teasing cuss, “What the fuck, Lou?”

Louis leans in and licks one of his dimples.

Then, just before they reach the meadow where they’re headed, the trail narrows so they can only fit between the trees and brush one at a time. Louis pushes Harry in front and guiding him from behind, his chin resting on Harry’s shoulder, as he does so.

The moment they’re out of the woods, a ray of sun hits Harry’s face and he smiles.

“Can I take off the blindfold?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Louis whispers. His voice is hoarse even though he’s barely spoken a word in the last few minutes.

He squeezes Harry’s hand and takes a deep breath. His pulse continues to race on.

Louis maneuvers Harry’s body so that when he opens his eyes the first thing he’ll see will be the three lakes off in the distance: Duck Lake, Big Lake, and Little Lake.

As soon as he lets go of Harry’s arms, Harry says, “Can I look _now_?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” And then, “Oh my god. Are you going to give me a blow job, while I’m blindfolded, at the Top of the World?”

Louis laughs and the sound surprises him because his hands are shaking, panic rising in the back of his throat.

He tugs the ring box out of the front pocket of the backpack, gets down on one knee, and opens the box.

He looks up at Harry, who’s smiling widely, that damn khaki fishing hat casting his face in shadow, and thinks, yeah, _fuck if he isn’t it for me._

“Now you can look.”

Harry tugs the blindfold down so that it hangs around his neck.

“I knew-“ The words die on his tongue. “Lou?”

“Harry Styles,” Louis says and then stops. He should have planned this better. The words aren’t coming to him. “Harry Styles, you are the most amazing person I’ve ever known. Handsome, smart, hardworking, big dick.”

Harry shakes his head and laughs. “I can’t believe- Are you really-“

“Yeah, Harry. I am. I’ve loved you for a long time, since we were little boys sleeping on those twin beds in your room while my mother worked a late shift. You used to make me laugh so hard I would almost pee my pajama pants.”

“It was definitely the other way around,” Harry replies, his voice rough.

“I’m a funny person, what can I say?” Louis takes a breath and begins again. “No, but _this summe_ r. This summer I fell in love with you. Living with you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me and now I can’t imagine living without you. Or, actually, I can imagine it and I _hate_ it. I never want to be apart from you.”

Harry nods. His eyes are wet. “I can’t believe this is happening right now,” he says.

Louis shrugs and licks his lips. “Me either. It is, though.”

“Do it,” Harry murmurs. “Ask me. Fucking, _ask me_.”

Louis takes a shaking breath. “Harry Styles, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “I will.”

“Oh, thank god,” Louis says, throwing his head back and chuckling. “Thank god.”

Harry takes the ring box from his hand- Louis’d forgotten all about it- and slides the ring onto his finger. He has to force it over his knuckle, making Louis wince.

“Supposed to be tight,” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows. “I love it.”

The watch each other for a long minute.

“I really feel,” Harry begins. He looks around, taking in the three lakes and hills and the trees, before finally resettling his gaze on Louis. “I really feel like I am at the top of the world.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the pun, but he doesn’t think Harry sees because suddenly his lips are on Louis’. Harry’s hands come under Louis’ arms, pulling him to his feet.

When the kiss breaks, Harry says, “This kind of thing is only supposed to happen in movies.”

“Harry, people get married in real life all the time,” Louis tells him, leaning in for another kiss.

Harry shakes his head. “Married. Oh my god. I always figured I’d be the one to propose.”

“To me? Did you imagine proposing to me?” Louis asks.

Harry looks down, the lure on the back of his hat jangling. “Maybe.” Then, he looks up, grinning again. “Can we do it here? The wedding? What about on Edward’s Lake? On a _boat_. We have to do it on a boat,” Harry says, leaning in for another kiss. “Oh my god. I want to tell my mom. Can I tell my mom?”

“Only if you give me a real kiss first,” Louis says. What he wants is more than a kiss. He wants Harry back in this moment, here, with Louis. Harry must understand because he does return to him, deepening their kiss and running his hands up and down Louis’ back, palm open against Louis’ spine.

As they kiss, Louis realizes he knows what Harry means when he says he feels like he’s at the top of the world. It’s not how Louis’ feels, not exactly, but he gets it.

Louis feels like he’s flying, soaring above Lake County, above all the things in his life that have held him down, held him back from Harry and this moment. Up in the air, he feels free.

~

They pick at the lunch Louis’ made, not saying much between giggles and kisses. Harry doesn’t bring up his mom or his phone again, but thoughts of Anne and of his own mom are never far from Louis’ mind. He wants them to know, _both_ of them. He’s _proud._

Harry Styles is his _fiancé_. Harry Styles wants to be with him, Louis Tomlinson, _forever._

Admittedly, this could have gone very wrong. Now, afterwards, Louis recognizes that fact and is amazed that it didn’t, amazed that everything fell into place, that Harry actually, really does want to spend his forever with Louis and is ready to say as much at the top of his lungs at the Top of the World.

Literally.

“WE’RE GETTING MARRIED,” he shouts down at the lakes, loud enough that the people north of them in Lakeland probably catch wind of the message.

“On the top of the world and that’s what you choose to shout?” Louis teases.

“I have a better one,” Harry tells him.

Louis raises an eyebrow, tucking the empty sandwich bags back into his pack.

“PENIS!”

Louis laughs and shouts, even louder, “PENIS!”

Louis has never been able to beat Harry at this game, but he still loves play. Harry’s voice breaks with effort, as he screams,“PENIS!”

“You win,” Louis tells him, easily.

“Fucking right,” Harry says, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m gonna be your husband. I win at _life_.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Not only does Harry want to marry him, he’s _excited_ about it.

Louis is the lucky one.

~

When they get back to the car, Harry takes his phone out of the middle consul, opens it up, looks at Louis, and replaces it. “I want tonight to just be for us. I’ll call my mom and Niall and Liam tomorrow. And Nick.” He pauses. “Oh my god. _Married._ ”

“I know. _Married_ ,” says Louis, the hugeness and heaviness of it settling on his shoulders for the first time.

“Forever. God, I love you. That must be the most romantic proposal in the history of Lake County. At the Top of the World! I had no idea that’s what this picnic was all about!” Harry says.

“You were surprised?” Louis asks.

“Weren’t you?”

Louis laughs. “I bought the ring.”

Harry splays the fingers of his left hand out on the dash and touches the ring. “It’s really beautiful. You’re my rope and now I’ll always have you with me.”

Louis’ heart feels so tight. “Always,” he agrees.

“What do you think we should do for the rest of the evening?” Harry’s still fingering the ring.

“Have engaged sex. Definitely have engaged sex.”

“Do you think that’s better than boyfriend sex?” Harry asks.

“Of course, it is,” Louis answers. And then, “Although, we’re definitely going to have to try- to test the theory. You never know.”

Harry’s dimples flash. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Louis’ throat feels tight. Everything seems perfect, maybe for the first time in Louis’ entire life, and he doesn’t quite trust the moment to last. Something is going to fuck it up, probably Louis himself.

~

As they climb out of the truck, Harry says, “So.”

Louis waits for him at the door. “Yeah?”

“About the rope and blindfold…”

The bandana is still hanging around his neck, but he’s wound it tight, so it resembles a thin, blue necklace.

Louis shakes his head and walks into the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Come on, you kinky fucker. Let’s tie you up.”

Harry skips forward chasing him into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Louis from behind. “Really?”

“You’ve only been begging for it all summer,” Louis says.

Harry’s fingers tighten, digging into the flesh of Louis’ stomach. “I love you.”

“I like the idea of having you where I want you. Caught,” Louis says, pulling Harry off him and linking their fingers, so he can tug Harry down the hall and into his bedroom.

His sheets smell like sex and sweat. They’ve been very _active_ these last few days. But they haven’t done _this_ yet, haven’t tried anything new, anything that would allow either of them to give up control.

Louis doesn’t know why- it just hadn’t felt right. It does now, though, with them on what feels like more like equal footing.

Harry’s agreed to marry him, _to stay_.

Louis digs through a pile of dirty clothes for something to wrap around Harry’s wrists. His fingers fist in the soft fluff of his blue bathrobe and he smiles, pulling the plush belt out of its loops and holding it high above his head.

Turning back to Harry, he says, “Look what I found.”

“Perfect.” Harry smiles back at him, already naked except for the silver glinting on his finger. He unrolls the blue bandana and offers it to Louis. “Here.”

Louis sets it on the bed behind him. Harry holds out his arms. “Tie me up and hold me down.”

As he wraps the blue terry cloth around Harry’s wrists, Louis asks, “Then what?”

“Then, fuck me.” Harry laughs. “Obviously.”

Louis tries to tie a pretty bow, but the fabric is bulky and the knot uneven, so that one of the loops hangs far lower than the other. He’s sure Harry could do a better job and he’s about to say as much, except that Harry lowers his wrists and Louis’ eyes track the motion.

His thoughts short circuit when he sees that Harry is already fully hard.

“You really like this,” he hears himself say. His voice is soft, as filled with wonderment as he feels.

“The blindfold,” Harry prompts. His voice is soft, too, but lower and, somehow, rougher.

“You really don’t want to see me?” Louis asks. He says the words as he thinks them.

Harry blinks at him. “I want to see you. I want to see you for the rest of my life. But right now I want to focus on other things. I want to feel you, hear you, smell you.”

“Taste me?” Louis asks, reaching for the blindfold.

Harry nods. “Maybe you could…” He stops.

Louis folds the blindfold into a strip the width of three of his fingers. “I could what?”

Harry doesn’t answer and Louis looks up to meet his eyes. His gaze is steady on Louis, but he doesn’t speak.

Heat washes over Louis, tingling through his limbs, making his skin feel too tight.

“What?” he presses.

“Maybe you could, like, fuck my mouth?”

Louis’ dick jumps. He tries to rationalize with himself. The idea of Harry helpless to just _take him_ shouldn’t be appealing. Except that Harry’s _asking_ for it, practically begging for it. His eyes are wide and heavy on Louis, pupils blown at the thought.

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “That sounds....”

Harry smiles and gestures to the blindfold. “Come on, then.”

Louis repeats the same careful knot he’d executed that morning, his hands suddenly shaking with nearly as many nerves now as they had then.

“Okay,” he says, stepping away from Harry to take him in.

Harry’s mouth lifts into a small smile. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” Louis answers immediately. “Perfect.”

Harry juts out his chin exposing his neck. ”Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms. He wishes he could find more words, better words. But this- Harry before him and ready for _sex_ \- always chokes him up. “Um… Do you want to sit down?”

“Make me,” Harry hisses back.

“So you don’t want...?” Louis hesitates.

Harry shakes his head, still smiling, curls bouncing. “I don’t mind either way, but like… I can’t see where the bed is. I need you to guide me, you know?”

 _Oh_. Louis thinks. _Of course_. Louis nods. Then remembers, _fuck_ , Harry can’t see him. “Okay,” he whispers.

He steps forward again to rest his hands on Harry’s waist and begins to guide him gently backward.

Their first few steps are good, _intense._ He can feel Harry relax under his fingertips, waiting at first, and then responsive to the pressure of Louis’ touch.

Louis’ so intent on Harry’s hot skin and slightly parted lips that he forgets to look at the floor and Harry stumbles- Louis looks down to see his feet caught in the pile of blue robe- and falls backward onto the bed.

He laughs, though, and so Louis does, too, tumbling over to lay beside him. Harry’s hands are stretched above his head and the his body is long and taut, a rubber band, pulled tight, waiting for release.

Louis leans down to lick a slick strip between his nipples to his belly button. Harry’s skin twitches and his whole body shudders, but the movements are slight, Harry somehow able to hold himself relatively still.

Louis takes Harry’s cock into his fist and Harry gasps.

“What..?” He has to choke the word out.

Louis smirks to himself. Harry expects to be, like, used, Louis knows. That’s what he’s asked for. And Louis’ll get to that, _he will_. But first Louis wants to do something else.

He scoots off the bed, almost pulling the comforter with him, so that he’s kneeling on the floor beside Harry. Against the juncture of his groin, cheek pressed against the heat of his cock, Louis murmurs. “I want to take care of you, first.”

The muscles in Harry’s stomach jump.

Then, he squirms beneath Louis, as Louis’ mouth opens against his skin and sucks gently, at first and then harder.

Louis lifts his head when Harry begins to whimper and inspects to pink mark he’s left in his wake. His eyes are drawn away quickly, though, to Harry’s dick, which is straining beside him, almost but not quite touching his face.

He takes the tip of it into his mouth and hums.

“Louis,” Harry groans.

Louis pulls off. “What?” he asks, looking up the length of Harry’s body, to see Harry’s mouth, still open and his hands, straining against the fabric binding them together. “Is everything alright?”

Harry shakes his head and then stops and says, “Wait, yeah, I mean..” He’s nodding now.

Louis thinks this is a good sign, that Harry’s _desperate_ , achingly desperate, and happy about it. It’s what he’s been hinting at wanting all summer- to be bound, helpless for Louis.

Taking in each whimper and twitch, Louis finds that he’s enjoying this, too, that he likes having this easy power over Harry. He likes that Harry _needs_ him, that Harry’s happy needing him.

This time, once he’s got his mouth back around Harry’s dick, he sucks harder, taking him in deep, relishing the fullness, the pressure, when Harry arches a little, choking him.

“I’m- _fuck_ ,” Harry moans, a hint of whine filling out the brokenness behind his tone.

And Harry _is_ ; he’s coming, down Louis’ throat, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

His taste is familiar now, and the rough sound of his breath catching and catching and catching as he resettles, now relaxed, boneless.

“You didn’t,” Harry gasps. “You didn’t have to do me first.”

Louis presses his mouth gently to the side of Harry’s softening cock. Lips on hot skin, he murmurs, “I wanted to.”

Harry shudders and then nods, “But now you.”

Louis rises climbs back onto the bed to kiss a trail up his body, just before their mouths meet, he replies, “Now me.”

They kiss for several long minutes. They kiss until Louis hears Harry’s hands thump against the mattress above them.

He whispers, “You want to touch me.”

Harry nods, his smooth cheek rubbing against Louis’ stubble.

“Too bad. You asked for this.”

Harry groans and Louis imagines that behind his blindfold his eyes are rolling. “I did.”

Louis moves off Harry and hoists himself up on his elbow, giving his cock a squeeze. “You also asked me for something else.”

“Do it,” Harry tells him. Harry leaves his lips parted and Louis feels his own breath hitch in throat. He still has trouble wrapping his mind around this- the fact that Harry enjoys having his lovely pink mouth, wide and full and perfect, wrapped around Louis’ cock. Louis doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ be able to fully believe it, not in a million years.

“Yeah,” he replies, moving farther up the bed.

“Am I okay like this?” Harry asks. “I mean, how do you want me?” Even after he asks, he leaves his lips parted, open for Louis.

“You’re good. You’re perfect,” Louis tells him. And it’s true. To Louis, Harry is perfect. He always has been. The perfect friend, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect _guy_. And somehow. This perfect guy is tied up, blindfolded, totally open for Louis.

As Louis lines up his cock with Harry’s lips, he gazes up and down Harry’s body, trying to take in and fully understand what’s happening. In doing so, he sees the ring glinting on Harry’s finger.

 _Fuck_.

“Come on,” Harry begs and Louis feels his breath against the head of his cock.

When he presses inside, Harry whines around him, a pleased sound, Louis thinks. “You like that?” he asks.

Harry takes him deeper and the pressure causes Louis’ hips to stutter.

He remembers what Harry’d said. He’d wanted Louis to _fuck_ his mouth. The line between that and what Louis’d just done- eagerly suck Harry off- is fine, especially when Harry’s clearly so eager to take him, to taste him.

But there is a line.

Louis begins to rock his hips, keeping the movements small, not wanting Harry to actually choke, or, God forbid, throw up.

Harry hands are writhing above them now, seemingly beyond his control and Louis reaches up to pin them down.

Harry does choke then, in attempting to push out a surprised, or perhaps anguished, breath of air. Quickly, Louis pulls out and lets go of Harry’s wrists, reaching down instead to touch his cheek.

Harry turns his face away from Louis’ fingers. “Don’t,” he says and Louis’ stomach drops. Except then Harry continues, “Don’t. Put it back. Want it _rough_. Lou.”

 

Louis does as he asks, canting his hips, fucking into Harry’s mouth, hard, like his it’s his own fist.

But it’s not, it’s hotter and it’s wetter and it’s Harry’s. Which means that Harry’s body is laid out beneath, flushed and spent and writhing.

When Louis comes, the sensation of it hits him all once, a storm wall washing over, leaving him soaked in sweat and shuddering.

Harry coughs and pulls away, and Louis looks down, gasping for breath, to see Harry smiling, mouth slick and still only a few inches from Louis’ glistening dick.

Louis reaches down and slides up the bandana. Harry’s eyes blink open and he gazes up at Louis, licking his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Louis can barely make out the words. His throat must ache and Louis rolls over to grab the bottle of water resting atop his nightstand. He rearranges himself on the bed so that their faces are close and then hands it Harry. Harry doesn’t take it.

“Well?” Harry asks after a moment. His voice is still barely audible. “Are you going to feed it to me or…?”

His hands are still tied, Louis realizes. He reaches up and loosens the knot, allowing Harry’s to slip free.

Harry shakes out his arms and then reaches for the bottle. Louis watches his adam’s apple bob as he downs the little that’s in it in a couple of easy gulps.

“Did you like it?” Louis hears himself ask.

A drop of water trickles down Harry’s cheek and he wipes it off with the back of his hand before tossing the empty bottle into the mess on Louis’ floor. “Yeah.”

He still sounds _so fucked out_ and Louis’ pulse flutters. He’d done that to him. Harry’d _wanted_ that done to him, wanted Louis to do it.

“We should do it again?” Harry asks.

Louis swallows and looks down at his dick, fully soft now. He doesn’t think he could get it up again quite yet. Maybe in a couple hours. They could sleep for now and then-

“I didn’t mean tonight,” Harry says, around a choked laugh.

Louis reaches up to tug a damp curl resting against his temple. “Obviously.”

Harry laughs again. It sounds painful, but Harry doesn’t looked pained. His dimples are out and he’s glowing. “We have the rest of our lives, after all.”

Louis lets go of the curl and runs a thumb over Harry’s cheek. “We do, don’t we?”

Harry nods, and then reaches out to pull Louis toward him. It’s an awkward, tangled embrace that won’t last five minutes, let alone the whole night, but Louis sinks into anyway.

Against Harry’s neck he murmurs, “You’re never leaving me.”

Harry kisses his ear. “I’m not. Ever. You’re stuck with now.”

~

Harry’s on the phone, a empty bowl in front of him on kitchen table, remnants of milk and cereal at the bottom.

“Not today, We’re not. No, obviously I didn’t do any of my packing yesterday,” Harry says. And then, “Hmmm.”

Louis moves to the coffee pot and pours himself a mug, blinking his eyes. Sunlight is streaming in through every window.

“Yeah, tell Robin Louis is not going to make it out there today… I don’t know if he’s gonna finish the job, we didn’t really talk about that yet… Mom, yeah… I love you, too… Yes… We can talk wedding plans later. I don’t think we’re trying to rush it. Alright… Bye.”

By the time he’s finished the conversation, Louis is sitting across from him with his own bowl of cereal. “Was she excited?”

“She’s a little bit miffed you didn’t ask her permission,” Harry says.

Louis drops his spoon into the bowl. “I didn’t even think about that. Does she approve? God, I’ll take her out tomorrow. Or the next day. I’m such an idiot. It all happened so fast. I’m sorry. I knew I’d fuck something about this up.”

Harry reaches across the table and wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist. “It’s okay. I was just joking. She didn’t say anything about that. She was surprised, but also thrilled. Said she already thought of you as a son.”

Louis’ mom thinks of Harry the same way, of course, but he doesn’t say so because he doesn’t want to start that fight. He’s not planning on telling her that Harry will be her son-in-law any time soon.

He wants to. Fuck but he wants to tell her. She’s always going on about how she wants him to be happy, to find the right girl. He wants her to know that he’s happy; that he’s found _Harry_.

It’s just. He can’t.

He thinks about her comments at Dale’s birthday about how Harry’s kind of people don’t get married and, yeah, _he can’t_.

Because he and Harry _are_ getting married. And, like, “Harry. Well, I was sort of thinking we’d do it soon. The wedding. I mean, why wait?”

Harry shrugs. “Why rush?”

“Cause I want you to be my husband!” Louis says. “Not my boyfriend. Not my fiancé. _My husband_. Officially.” He doesn’t know why that’s become so important all of a sudden, but it has. It is. The words are pouring out of him, more quickly and louder than he intends them.

“I will be, when we sort things out. In the meantime, we’ll still be committed. The anchor to your rope and all that.” Harry’s speaking especially slowly and it grates a little bit on Louis.

“What do we need to sort out still?” Louis asks. It’s sorted. He and Harry will marry. That’s it. “We’re not telling a lot of people so no need for lots of wedding planning.”

“I know,” Harry says. “That’s not what- I guess. Like, I want time to find us a nice one bedroom apartment and get you a job and enrolled in community college. We can save up a little money to throw a party for the people we _do_ want to invite. We can do it right, a September wedding next year, like you said you wanted.”

Harry tilts his head to the side when he finishes speaking, as though he’d asked question and not made a statement.

Louis doesn’t know how to respond. None of what Harry’d said made sense to him. An apartment? Community college? Save money?

Oh.

_Oh._

“You think I’m moving to Chicago with you,” Louis says, words coming out slow, Harry’s usual pace, probably.

Harry nods. “Yeah? Aren’t you?”

“No,” Louis explodes. He takes breath, and adds, firmly, “No. Way.”

The room is quiet for a moment.

“Okay,” Harry says, finally, voice soft. But Louis can see that he is _not okay_.

“I can’t just leave,” he explains. “What kind of bullshit are you talking that I’m just gonna move out of the Farmhouse, leave my mom and sisters, and take out _another_ huge loan on top of the one we’ve got on the property, so I can go to school?”

Harry bites his lip.

Louis huffs out a breath.

“Yeah. I thought you might do that. But I guess I was wrong. That’s fine. We can-”

But Louis isn’t ready to move on. “Really? You _really_ thought I’d go to Chicago with you? After all this time? After spending the summer _here_?”

“Jesus, wow.” Harry says, taking a step away from him. “It’s not that big of a deal. Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.” Louis folds his arms across his chest and looks at the fridge, away from Harry. “Fuck. I can’t believe you thought- do you even know me?”

“I guess I don’t know you very well. I thought you wanted to get married. To me. A man. In Lake County. Where your _mother_ doesn’t even know you’re gay.” Harry talks even more slowly when he’s really angry. Louis’d forgotten that. It’s been a long time since he’s seen him this mad.

It’s very difficult for Louis not to interrupt him.

“I’m not fucking gay. I like women, too. So fuck off,” Louis hisses.

“The point,” Harry’s voice is rising. “Fuck! The point is. You won’t even tell your mom about us. And we’re _engaged_. And you expect me to leave my job and my friends and rush to the Lake County clerk’s office for a marriage certificate _the day after you’ve asked me to marry you. Out of the fucking blue_.”

“So what? You promised to marry me but now you’re fucking leaving? What the fuck, Harry?” Louis’ breath is short and he still can’t look at Harry. _This was supposed to work_. Everything was going _so_ well. Harry’d said he wanted to _marry_ him.

“I thought you were coming with me! I thought you wanted, like, to come with me to Chicago! You always said that’s what you wanted. I was a little surprised when you agreed to long distance, before. I thought you’d jump on the opportunity to get out of here. And when you proposed, I thought…” Harry’s rubbing his face with his hand. “I don’t want to leave _you_.”

Louis shakes his head. He’s looking at Harry now and Harry’s eyes are wet. “Then _don’t_.”

“I have to. I have a job. We agreed to do long distance. Lots of couples do that while they’re engaged. We can make it work. I know we can.” Harry’s words pick up speed as they turn into a plea.

“For how long?” Louis asks. “I’m not leaving Edwardsville. I _can’t_. You know that. Not now and probably not ever.”

Louis can’t. He can't leave his mom. He’s got no proof that Dan is any more reliable than Mark. And, anyway, he can't sell the Farmhouse. His grandparent’s left it for them, for him. He can't be the big city stud he’d wanted to be when he was fifteen when he’d first begun to make all those grand plans with Harry about Chicago, and he’s known that for a while now. And that's okay. Over the last few years, that became _okay._ In fact, with Harry here in the Farmhouse with him, it became more than _okay_.

But apparently it’s not okay with Harry.

Louis realizes that he was right: Harry doesn’t _know_ him. He’s in love with a Louis who doesn’t exist.

“We’ll figure it out. I’ll have to go back to Chicago and you have to stay here. But that doesn’t mean the end of all this. We can see how things go, just like we’d talked about before,” Harry suggests. His voice is weak again, soft and slow.

“You’re leaving me,” Louis says. He should have seen this coming. He should have known he couldn’t keep Harry here. This is what people do. _They leave_.

Louis watches as Harry walks to the door. Louis sees now that he’s a got a few boxes stacked by it. He’d been packing already this morning, before Louis had woken up. Shit.

Louis pounds his fist on the table hard enough that it smarts. “Fuck. You’re really leaving.”

“I have a job in Chicago, Louis. An apartment. Friends. A life,” Harry tells him. “I have to go back there. I’m telling you we can still make this work.”

“You have a job _here_. The Farmhouse _here_. Friends _here._ A life _here_ with your fucking _fiancé_. Me. Who is _here._ ”

“I’ve got _commitments,_ Louis,” Harry insists. He’s picking up the boxes now.

“You said you wanted to us to get a dog and _goats_ ,” Louis says. “Were you _lying_?”

“Louis. Of course I wasn’t lying. Why are you being so _stupid_ about this?”

He’s really gonna leave. He’s really fucking leaving.

“Fuck you, I’m not being stupid. You’re being a dick. This is _not my fault_. _You’re the one who’s leaving._ ”

“Sure, Louis,” Harry mutters. “This is all about me.” He opens the door, “After I leave, go take a long, hard look in the mirror. Do some self-reflection.”

“Fuck you!” Louis shouts, but the door has already slammed shut.

Harry’s right, of course.

This _is_ about Louis, about how everyone fucking leaves him. Everyone.

He smokes a cigarette at the table, even though he’d promised his mom he’d never smoke in the house, and contemplates calling Harry up and apologizing. He’s probably on the other side of the lake by now, at his parents’ or with Cara and Kendall.

What would be the point though? Louis is never going to convince Harry to stay.

What the hell had Louis been thinking to propose? They hadn’t even been dating two months. Louis’ face hurts, his forehead and the corners of his eyes. He wipes at them and his hands come away wet.

Fucking Harry.

Louis wants to call his mom. She knows what to do when a man leaves. But he can’t. He can’t even call his fucking mom.

Louis leaves the butt of his cigarette in the bottom of Harry’s cereal bowl.

~

That evening when Louis sees Harry's phone number pop up on the screen, he takes a deep breath and presses the little green button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

 _Me, too_ , Louis does not say because he’s not. Harry’s _left_ and no apology is going to change that fact.

“I'm still at my parents’ house,” Harry says.

Louis lets out the breath he’d been holding and mutes the baseball game.

Harry’s still speaking. “I really do love you. I have for so long. I’m so happy you proposed. Like, I want to marry you. I wasn't lying. I don't want to leave you. You’re the most fun person I’ve ever met. And you know me better than anyone else. I want-”

None of what Harry’s saying actually matters. He interrupts, “I can't listen to this. Are you going to stay? Or are you leaving and going back to Chicago?”

Harry doesn't say anything.

“Well?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry says, his voice is so slow that his words are difficult to make out. “Why won’t you consider coming to Chicago? It was all you wanted in high school and after.”

“Harry, it was all _you_ wanted. I’m not going with you to Chicago,” he says, finally. “I never was.”

The line is quiet. Louis can't even hear Harry breathing.

“You could still stay here,” Louis suggests. “Move into the Farmhouse, for real.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“I can't stay here,” Harry says, emphasizing each word. “Hell, Louis, you can't stay here. We can't be who we really are here. Come with me to Chicago. You’ll see how liberating it is to like, be _out_ and _-_ ”

Louis can’t take it. Harry’s words, his dreams, _sting_. “We have been who we really are _here_ all summer. This is who we are. You and me running the farm, me working with Robin, you opening Stylin’ Sweets, spending weekends with Soph and Liam and Dale, performing with One Direction, having dinner a few times a week with our families. Harry, this _is_ who we are.”

The line is silent again.

“Harry?”

“We can make this work,” Harry presses, sounding remarkably calm. “We’ll just have to do long distance for a while, while we figure things out. Why can’t you agree to that?”

“Because that’s not ‘figuring things out.’ That’s _you leaving._ ”

“Fuck you,” Harry says, voice breaking with renewed passion. “ _Fuck you_ , _Louis._ ”

Louis huffs. “What did _I_ do?”

“You didn’t mean any of it, did you? You don’t really want to get married.” Harry’s speaking more quickly than Louis’ ever heard him. “You don’t want me to be your forever. You don’t think about tomorrow, let alone ten years from now. God. Fuck. I should have known.”

“What are you talking about?” Louis bites back. “I proposed to you. I took you up to the Top of the World. I planned the whole thing. I got down on one fucking knee.”

How could Harry doubt him when _he’s_ the one who’s _leaving_?

“You don’t want to get married, though. I bet you hadn’t thought about it more than a day or two before you bought the ring.” Harry’s laughing. Louis stomach turns over. He won’t admit that Harry’s right, that he hadn’t considered it until he’d seen the ring in the shop, hadn’t decided he was actually going to do it until the night before.

“What does it matter how long I thought about it? I _meant_ it.”

“No, you didn’t. You just didn’t want me to go back to Chicago. _Fuck_.” Harry’s giggling madly now.

Louis wants to smack him. He can’t, so he say, “Fuck off. Stop laughing. You have no idea what I want.”

Harry does not stop laughing. “You were trying to _trap_ me. Oh my god.”

Louis is definitely going to be sick. “Trap you? I thought you wanted to be married. I thought you _loved_ me.”

“Fuck,” Harry says. And then, “I guess you're right.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers.

“I guess I’m leaving.”

“No,” Louis protests. “Harry. Harry please stay.”

“I can’t believe you,” Harry says, the laughter back in his voice. “You proposed to me _as a trick_ without even thinking it all the way through and you still think I might just do what you want and stick around. Well, fuck you.”

“I _love_ you. It wasn’t a trick. Please, Harry…”

Harry doesn't answer.

“Harry?”

When Louis looks at the phone screen to see if something’s gone wrong with the line, he sees that Harry’s already disconnected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho boy, forgive me. another reason for the delay was that i kept getting too sad while trying to edit this bit. :( 
> 
> warnings: cheesy love song writing, louis being wildly romantic but also maybe a little rash, oral sex w/ light bondage- bound wrists and a blindfold, sad fighting sad sad sad, actually maybe you should just wait to read this until i post the next chapter. :'(


	10. October 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read and kudosed and commented and reblogged and messaged as I've posted these last few months. You're lovely and patient and I love you. 
> 
> Spoilery, chapter specific warnings at the end, as always.

 

Harry’s been gone for four days and Louis still isn’t used to making his own coffee. Or drinking it alone. He’s run out of cereal and milk, too. One last chocolate chip muffin sits on the counter, wrapped. It’s almost a week old, due to go bad in another day or so, and Louis is starving, but he doesn’t want to eat it.

It’ll taste too much like Harry.

And, this morning, Louis woke up mad as hell at Harry.

What the fuck did that asshole think he was doing, waltzing into Louis’ life again, pretending to be Louis’ old best friend, but new and improved with tight pants and silky shirts and fancy sweets. He’d fucking lured Louis into a relationship using chocolate chips and dimples, when he’d never meant to stick around.

They were supposed to get _married_. Harry’d said ‘ _yes_ ’.

Louis pounds his fist against the counter. _Fuck._ It smarts and he rubs it on the front of his jeans.

Harry’s no liar. Louis _knows_ that.

But he’d said _yes_ and yet…

Louis stomach growls and he pokes the muffin. He’s running late- no time to stop at the gas station on the way to the job.

Cursing Harry (again), he unwraps the muffin and breaks it in half. It’s still moist on the inside. He has no idea how the fuck Harry managed to learn to bake so expertly. Or why he’d stop doing that, which he _clearly_ loves, to go into _advertising_. For Nick.

In Chicago.

Louis takes a bite and opens his phone. He suspects he’s used up most of his family’s data in the last few days, refreshing Harry’s Facebook and Instagram and Twitter pages.

It’s also a huge waste of time because with the shitty service out here at the Farmhouse each refresh takes several minutes to load (when the pages load at all).

Louis would have thought that Harry’d be posting all sorts of pics about Nick’s show and about his friends, about moving back into his apartment and about going out to his favorite clubs and restaurants. He’s usually pretty active, especially when he’s in fancy-ass Chicago with its reliable 4G service and abundance of free wifi hotspots.

But Harry hasn’t posted _anything_.

Maybe last night was the night. Louis opens Facebook and hits refresh.

While Louis is waiting for the page to load, a text comes in from Robin, asking when he thinks he’ll be getting out to the worksite. Louis’ been able to avoid working with him the last couple of days. A friend of Louis’ mother’s had needed help cleaning and shutting down her seasonal Bed and Breakfast in Glen River and Louis’d been more than happy to spend his afternoons with her instead of with Harry’s stepdad.

But he needs the money and the work and he sure as hell isn’t going to be able to avoid Robin and Anne forever.

He texts back, _Leaving Edwardsville now. See you soon._

He clicks back a screen and, sure enough, Harry’s Facebook has loaded. Nothing new. His last post is a pic of him and his mom smiling on their pontoon a few weeks back. He’d posted it on Saturday with the caption, _gonna miss this amazing woman_.

Louis’d been jealous when he’d first seen it. He’d wished Harry had announced on social media that he’d miss _Louis._

It’d been irrational even then, of course, because most people had no idea how close they’d become and Louis isn’t ready for the world to find out, but like, maybe Harry could have posted about his _best friend_ or his _roommate_.

Of course, after their fight, he wouldn’t’ve.

Louis sighs and closes the app. He snaps a pic of his empty cereal cupboard and puts it up on Instagram without a caption.

Back in his room, he pulls on his dirty, paint-covered pants and imagines what this morning would have been like if he’d gone with Harry to Chicago. He’d’ve woken up in Harry’s bed, the sheets beside him still warm from Harry’s body and smelling of Harry’s laundry detergent and cologne. He’d have found a half a pot of coffee waiting for him on Harry’s counter. Harry would have been in the bathroom, fixing his hair and washing his face before work. He’d have kissed Louis on his way out the door, leaving Louis to spend the rest of the day enrolling in classes and figuring out where and how to buy course books.

The idea of spending the day alone in Chicago, trying to run errands and figuring out the lay of the land, sounds more than a little intimidating. Visiting and exploring is fun. Sorting out a new life sounds terrifying.

Louis doesn’t think he could do it. He’s sure he’s made the right decision, even though this one doesn’t include Harry.

~

Robin does not bring up Harry, thankfully, not that afternoon or the following. He does not grill Louis about their break-up (which he must know about) and he does not update Louis on Harry’s return to Chicago.

This should be comforting to Louis, a relief, but it’s not.

Louis is curious enough for news of Harry that he almost brings the subject up himself on his third day back at work. In fact, he’s just taking a breath and preparing to speak when Robin says, “Have you heard about the job at the school, yet?”

Louis closes his mouth and nods. “I had an interview yesterday, after working with you.”

“How’d it go?” Robin asks.

He thinks he probably fucked it up- he’d been very distracted, partly by dark thoughts of Harry and partly by a certainty that Mrs. Holland, the principal, would be able to see right through his smile to his shitty grades and perpetual tardiness. Which she most probably had.

Louis hadn’t attended Glen River schools- he’d gone to Edwardsville- but he was certain the local teachers and administrators had some sort of network.

Louis looks at Robin and shrugs. “Alright.”

“Just let me know when they hire you,” Robin replies, chuckling.

Louis doesn’t understand how he’s so confident in Louis. He _knows_ Louis. He knows that Louis has trouble keeping his schedule. He knows that Louis’ relationships are a mess.

And yet he’s smiling smugly at Louis like he’s proud of him, like he’s certain Louis will get the job and deserve it.

Louis’ stomach clenches. He wonders what Robin sees in him, if it’s a mirage or if Louis’ missing something. He doubts it’s the latter, but he wonders. And hopes.

~

Louis lounges across the couch and flips idly through the channels, trying to ignore the empty feeling in his stomach. There’s nothing on, though, nothing that interests him, anyway. The baseball playoffs don’t start for another couple of days, not that his team will be in them this year, and basketball and hockey season are still a few weeks away.

He’s hungry. The peanut butter sandwich he’d made himself when he’d gotten home from work had done little to fill him up, but his cupboards- _all of them_ \- are empty for the first time in months. He tells himself that it’s hunger, an empty stomach, that’s making him feel so hollow.

He’s just beginning to drift off, the commentator on screen talking about the Packer’s chances this season, his tone adoring and completely uncritical, when he hears a thumping from the other side of the house.

He sits up.

The thumping again.

Someone is at the front door. He cannot remember anyone aside from the Mormons ever using the front door.

He does not want to deal with the Mormons right now. It’s got to be after nine, anyway. They can come back tomorrow. When he’s out working.

He lays back down.

But the thumping continues. Whoever is at the front door is not going away.

With a sigh, he heaves himself up, feet dragging as he makes his way to the front of the house, past the dining room and the sitting room. He hasn’t been in this part of the house since his grandparents were alive and it smells a little like mildew.

He opens the door and on the front porch stands his mother, wet hair plastered to her head. He hadn’t even realized it had started to rain.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, stepping aside to let her in.

“I wanted to visit you and I thought I’d come in the right way,” she explains, as if she doesn’t visit him often, as if coming through the front door is somehow more ‘right’ than coming in through the kitchen, like everyone _always_ does.

Well, Louis thinks, she likes to make an entrance.

She pulls off her boots and fleece and then folds her arms around herself shivering. “It’s cold in here, honey. Do you even have the heat on?”

“I closed all the vents in this part of the house because the last time anyone sat in the ‘sitting room’ was in the 1950s,” Louis tells her, rolling his eyes. She doesn’t see though, as she’s following him back through the house and into the kitchen.

“We need a drink,” she announces, flipping on lights and then rustling through all the cupboards.

So. much. drama.

“Why are you here?” Louis asks.

It’s Dan. It has to be.

Except, as she pulls out a fancy looking bottle of whiskey from God knows where and sets it down on the wooden tabletop, she’s smiling, albeit grimly.

“It’s time for us to talk,” she tells him, turning back to the cupboards again. This time she digs up two short glasses into which she pours a couple of fingers of chestnut-colored liquid.

“I don’t like whiskey,” Louis tells her.

She sits down and gestures for him to do the same, on the other side of the table. “I don’t care. This conversation is the kind that calls for whiskey. It’s the kind of conversation your father should be having with you, but I’ll have to do.”

Louis sighs and drops into the chair. His father. When has he ever needed a parent other than her? Fucking never.

So this is not about Dan; it’s about him. Maybe she wants to sell the farm. For the first time since she appeared, he begins to really worry. She can’t _evict_ him. He’s her _son._ He _lives here_. He should have a say in what happens to the place.

She takes a sip of whiskey and winces. Then, she watches him, apparently in no rush to speak, so Louis does the same, gulping a little down and then making a face as it burns its way to his stomach. Despite its fancy bottle, this is _cannot_ be ‘the good stuff.’

“Why is Harry back in Chicago?” she asks.

Louis blinks at her. What.

“He has a job there. It’s where he lives,” Louis says, words clipped, tone final. He really does not want to talk with his mom about Harry.

“He has a job _here_.”

Louis frowns. “It doesn’t pay sixty grand a year plus benefits.” He’s not actually sure how much Harry’s making in Chicago, but it’s got to be _at least_ that much.

His mom leans across the table. “If he lived here on the farm, he wouldn’t _need_ that much.”

“No,” Louis agrees. It’d be nice, though. But more importantly, “He doesn’t live here on the farm. He lives in Chicago.”

“Why? Why did you let him go back there?” she demands.

Little does she know he’d done everything in his power to keep Harry here. _Everything_. And it had all fucking backfired.

“Louis?” she asks. “How come you didn’t keep him here?”

He takes another swig of whiskey and it courses through him. Suddenly, he’s got fire in his heart, and then it’s pumping through his veins, his whole body hot with it.

How _dare_ she?! How dare his mother come here and tell him how he should have acted toward Harry when she doesn’t even know the nature of their relationship, when she’d come over just a few weeks back and made Harry listen to her talk about Louis finding ‘the right girl’?! How _fucking_ dare she.

He huffs out a breath and decides. He’s fucking _done_ with the charade _._

He’s thought about telling her everything, of course. He and Harry’d argued about it plenty. And he’d fantasized about how good it would feel for her to know and love them for it, fantasized about her pinning his wedding corsage while at the same time asking him nosily about grandchildren.

He’d hoped it would happen. He hadn’t hoped it would happen like this, though.

“Mom, Harry and I broke up,” he says, heart, still burning, in his throat.

“I _know,_ ” his mom replies, rolling her eyes. “That’s why I’m here. Obviously.”

He swallows. Why does she have to make everything so _fucking_ difficult. “No, we were dating, _boyfriends_. And we broke up. He left for Chicago and we broke up.”

His mother leans across the table on her forearms. “I _know_. Louis, that’s why I’m here. To find out _why_.”

What. Louis sits back in his chair. “What?”

His mother turns over her arms so that her palms are up. “Louis, I know you and Harry were different about each other. I mean, all summer your _gay_ best friend was living with you, cooking for you, doing your laundry. I may be old fashioned about some things, but I’m not stupid, honey.”

“You never said.”

“ _You_ never said,” his mom replies, with a huff of breath. “And quite frankly I’m a little hurt about that. I know you boys told Anne and Robin, so I don’t see why…” She trails off and then sighs again.

“Mom,” Louis says. “You’ve never really been great about this stuff. Like, you’ve always said you felt so bad for Harry and Anne about the fact that he’s gay and that you were so glad that none of your children were like that.”

Her brows draw together. “That’s because I want you all to be _happy_.”

“That’s not what it felt like. It felt like you didn’t approve,” Louis tells her, again surprised by his own honesty.

His mother closes and opens her hands and, reluctantly, Louis places his own palms against hers. She squeezes his fingers tightly. “I love you, Louis. Your happiness, all my childrens’ happiness, that’s always been the most important thing to me. I was scared- I _am_ scared- that this might get in the way of that.”

For a moment, Louis lets himself feel the warmth of her skin and the strength of her grip. Then, he pulls away and takes another sip of whiskey. His glass is almost empty. It burns, yes, but he might be able to get used that. When it fits the mood.

“I was happier than I’ve ever been when I was with Harry.”

Now, his mother smiles. “I know.” And then, sitting back in her chair, she adds, “That’s why I don’t understand why you’ve let him get away!”

“I can’t control him,” Louis says. “You should know that. Look how many men _you’ve_ let get away.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He regrets it immediately. But. It _is_ true.

“What?” she asks, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“My dad? Mark?” Louis presses. It’s a mean thing to say, but she doesn’t have any room to judge him.

Except that she doesn’t wince or cry or close herself off. She laughs and shakes her head. “They didn’t _leave_ me, Louis. Or, they did, but _I_ told them to get the hell out.”

Louis swallows. That’s not- that doesn’t make _sense_ to him.

“Louis,” she says. “They weren’t good for our family. Your dad couldn’t hold down a job. He was using all the money I was making at Tina’s for gambling at the Casino, which is what he considered his ‘work.’ We couldn’t have lived like that, me and you.”

“You kicked him out,” Louis says, not quite believing it.

“Mark, too. His temper scared me when he got drunk and he was getting drunk a lot toward the end there. I was worried about your safety, about the girls,” she says.

“I thought he wanted you to sell the Farmhouse, to move. I thought that’s why he left,” Louis says. She’d never said as much, but Louis’d heard their fights and he knew how much Mark resented this place and all the work that came with it.

His mom shakes her head. “I love this farm. It’s been in my family for generations. But if I’d thought that selling it and moving somewhere with Mark would’ve been the best thing for you kids, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, honey.”

Louis blinks. He’s not sure he believes her and she must see that in his eyes because she adds, “This place is not nearly as important as your happiness.”

Louis finishes off his whiskey and then draws a shaky breath. The room is quiet.

He closes his eyes and then opens them. His mom is watching him closely.

“I have to go to Chicago. To Harry,” he says.

She nods. “You do.”

“Right now,” he adds.

“You could probably wait until-”

But he’s standing, trying to think if there’s anything he should take with him. He might be gone a long time.

He looks around the kitchen and then at his mom. He might not be back.

His mom smiles sadly as she stands and walks over to him. She puts her arms around him and, into his ear, whispers fiercely, “Bring him home, Louis.”

Louis shakes his head. His eyes are burning. Why is he _crying._ “I don’t know if I can, Mom,” he says. “Or, like, ‘home’ might not be Lake County, not for him.”

She squeezes him tighter. “Home is where the heart is, Louis.”

He laughs and pulls back a bit. “That’s so cliche.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

She kisses his wet cheeks and he knows she’s right.

~

Louis pulls out of the drive. The moon is huge, casting a pale yellow light on the earth, a light which allows Louis to catalogue everything he passes. He notes the big wooden barn where they keep the hay, the red one where the goats had lived in the winter, and the third where a basketball sits at the edge of its open doorway right on the fading boundary line Louis’d painted with Mark so many years ago. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he takes in the pasture where the goats used to graze and the fence he’s been meaning to mend and then he’s on the long stretch of highway with forest rising up on either side between the Farmhouse and Edwards’ Lake. A minute or so later he passes the Edwardsville schools and the tired looking parents and kids packing up at the end of a late soccer game. When he reaches Harry’s parents’ little stretch of lakefront, their dock is the only one Louis can see still stretching out onto the water.

_Fuck._ He’d promised Robin he’d help take it out this weekend, but in his haze of self-pity he’d forgotten. He’ll have to give Liam a call, see if he can do it before it gets too fucking cold.

Pizza Castle isn’t on his way, but he stops there, anyway, and at the gas station next door. He needs fuel for the long drive ahead.

And it is a long drive.

~

When Louis pulls off the highway in downtown Chicago, the sky is grey- the sun won’t be up for a couple of hours yet- and he’s almost out of gas. While he fills up his car (with really fucking expensive gas), he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts Harry.

He won’t be happy to woken at three am, especially by Louis, but Louis doesn’t really have a choice. And, hopefully, once Harry realizes that Louis _is_ in love with him, that Louis _does_ want to spend the rest of their lives together (because he _does_ ), that Louis’ ready to give-up _everything_ for him, he’ll be more than happy to see him.

_what’s your address_

No answer.

_it’s important._

Still, no answer.

Louis pays for his gas and hops back into his truck. He looks at the looming cluster of skyscrapers on the horizon. He can’t even remember the direction of the neighborhood where Harry’d lived the last time he’d visited. He thinks it might have been just north of downtown. Or maybe just south.

He considers going inside and asking for directions to the gay hipster area of town, but he thinks he remembers that Harry’d moved since college. And even if he hasn’t Louis is relatively sure he wouldn’t be able to pick out the right building. In Louis’ mind, everything in this city blends together in a fuzzy mass of concrete and lights and people.

The gas station attendant is peering out the window at him now, probably wondering what he’s still doing here.

_Fuck_.

He thinks about messaging Cara or Kendall. Or maybe Nick, who’d friended him on Facebook shortly after his fateful trip to Lake County.

But it’s _three am_. He really should have thought this through more carefully. He pulls out of the gas station and presses dial.

The phone rings and rings and rings. Harry’s voicemail picks up, but Louis doesn’t leave a message. Instead, he calls again.

Harry answers immediately and he sounds surprisingly awake when he speaks.

“Fuck off, Louis. I don’t want you to send me a late night, drunken love letters. I don’t care how many times you apologize. You _lied_ to me. _About wanting to get married_. So, yeah. Fuck off.”

With that, he hangs up.

Louis calls him back. This time, he’s sent straight to voicemail.

Once Harry’s message finishes, Louis murmurs, “Harry, please call me back. It’s not about a love letter. And I’m definitely not drunk. I want to come see you to talk things through. I _love_ you. I really need you to call me back.”

He circles the block he’s on three times. Still, his phone remains silent. He thinks about leaving another message, but doesn’t see what good it would do.

Stomach turning over, he heads toward Lake Michigan.

If he’s remembering correctly, Harry had lived at least a mile to the west of it, maybe farther, but the vast expanse of water is familiar, comforting.

As it comes into view, Louis begins to relax. He can do this. Chicago’s not so different from home. Just bigger. Bigger buildings, bigger roads, bigger lake.

Louis pulls his truck into the parking lot of a city beach. It’s well-lit, but empty. He parks facing the lake, grabs the fleece blanket from the back of the cab to wrap around himself, lowers his seat, and closes his eyes.

He can do this. For Harry, he can do this.

~

A loud knocking on the window wakes him. A uniformed officer blinks into focus. The woman does not look happy.

Fucking cops.

Behind her, the sky is a pale orange as the sun peeks up over the blue horizon.

Louis turns the key in his ignition and rolls down his window. “Officer?” he asks.

“The park isn’t open till eight. You have to leave.” Her brows are drawn together and her gaze moves over him, unimpressed.

He looks down at himself. He’s got a glob of barbeque sauce on the front of his grey sweatshirt and the cab of his truck is filled with food garbage and dirty laundry. She must think he’s a homeless slob. She’s not far off the mark.

“Alright,” he says, even though it is not alright. Where the fuck is he supposed to go?

“I won’t give you a ticket, this time. But you cannot park here overnight again. Alright, sir?”

The way she says ‘sir’ feels the opposite of respectful. Louis wonders if Liam would kick someone out of the Edward’s Lake beach parking lot in the early hours of the morning. He doubts it.

As he pulls off, he sees a text from Harry.

_If you want to talk to me, then come fucking talk to me._

He throws his phone against the passenger door and yells. _What the fuck._ How is he supposed to come talk to Harry if he doesn’t have Harry’s address?!

He pulls into a strip mall with a Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s almost 7am and he could use a cup of coffee. It might help him think. He’s not going to give up now, especially after Harry’d taunted him.

Like, alright. Louis’ll come fucking talk to him.

The line is almost out the door and the other customers are dressed in everything from overalls and reflective vests to designer suits. He pulls out his phone again.

This time, instead of texting or calling Harry, he finds Nick on Facebook.

_Hey Nick, This is Harry’s friend from home? Harry Styles, I mean. I’m in Chicago and trying to find him. He’s really pissed at me, but I’m wondering if you’d be willing to help. I want to apologize, work things out._

Nick doesn’t answer right away and his profile doesn’t show that he’s online.

Cara and Kendall seem even less likely to be helpful, as they’ve almost certainly heard about Louis’ cold feet from Harry, but Louis’ driven all the way here, so he might as well message them, too.

_Hey guys! Can you send me Harry’s Chicago address?_

Cara’s icon appears right away, but it shows that she’s still typing when Louis reaches the front of the line. He orders himself a jelly donut and large styrofoam cup of coffee, pays, and retreats back to his truck as quickly as possible eager to read her response.

As he reopens the messenger app, he takes a bite of the donut, letting the sweet blueberry tang settle on his tongue. It’s not nearly as good as Harry’s blueberry crumble muffins. However, the jolt of sugar hits him almost immediately, so he supposes it does the trick.

Cara’s sent him the address and asked, simply, _why?_

Louis types back. _See you soon._

He puts the address into his GPS and heads back out into the city.

The streets are narrow and traffic is tight. Louis feels like his side mirrors are about to knock into every passing truck and SUV. The combination of the stress, both from driving and trying to find Harry, and of his meager breakfast of sugar and caffeine, has his stomach in knots. By the time he pulls up on Harry’s street, he wants to hurl.

He circles the block a few times before pulling into a spot that someone else is just pulling out of. A sign stuck into the grassy curb beside him reads in bold black letters: _**Permit Parking Only**_.

Louis closes his eyes and then opens them. Figuring things out with Harry is well worth a ticket, he decides. He has to do this. He’s _so_ close.

The air outside is chilly, a gust of wind whipping down the block as he climbs out of his truck to survey the big brick building declaring the address Cara’d given him.

Just as he’s clicking the lock on his door, his phone rings. For a moment, he thinks it might be Harry.

It’s not.

The area code’s from home and it’s not a number he has saved. He answers, expecting Cara, or maybe Kendall.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Tomlinson?”

The woman on the other end of the phone is not Cara or Kendall, but he doesn’t recognize who it is, not right away.

“Yes.”

“This is Mrs. Holland, the principal at Glen River. We met the other day at your interview. I wanted to let you know that you’ve got the job, if you want.”

The job.

At the school.

_It’s his_.

Louis smiles. He can feel the breadth of it stretch across his face. He got the job. _He got the job!_

And then, he realizes where he is and what he means to do.

He can’t take the offer, not if he’s moving here to Chicago with Harry. Not that he’s certain Harry’ll be up for that, if their last interaction is any indication of where he’s at with Louis.

_Fuck_.

“Can I get back to you?”

“Sure, you can have the night to think it over,” the principal tells him. “Not any longer though. We’ve got to get rolling with this.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“I hope you take it. We could use another young guy on staff here. The kids need solid role models.”

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been called a solid role model before and his heart aches. This is what he’s wanted for a long time, to work with the kids back home.

He takes a breath.

It’s okay. Chicago has kids. And lunchrooms. And jobs. No matter what, it’s going to be okay.

“Talk to you tomorrow,” Louis says.

“First thing in the morning. We’d want you to get in and sign paperwork right away, if you could. The kids have already been in school for over a month and we’re short-staffed.”

“First thing in the morning,” Louis repeats, as he makes his way into Harry’s building. “Goodbye.”

He has to buzz up to the apartment in the entryway and as his finger reaches out toward the button designated _Styles,_ his breath catches and he freezes.

And then he thinks, _I can do this_. _I want to do this_. And pushes it.

A female voice rings through the speaker. _Cara’s._ “Hello?”

“It’s Louis.”

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “Okay.” The door buzzes and he pulls it open.

Louis climbs the four flights of stairs to Harry’s apartment. He’s sure now that this is a different building than before; he distinctly remembers an elevator.

On the landing, he texts Harry one last time. _I’m at your place._

Kendall opens the door wearing a black silk robe and frown. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Harry,” Louis explains. “Has he left for work yet?”

Cara appears at her side; her hair is a mess, but she’s smiling. “Hi, Louis. We didn’t expect to see you here!”

“I’m looking for Harry,” he repeats. He tries to peer around them, see if Harry’s somewhere inside. A thought strikes him.

“He’s not- he doesn’t have someone else over? That’s not why he wouldn’t give me the address, right?”

Cara raises her eyebrows and then gestures him inside. The place is tiny; the kitchen and the living area blend together into a single, stuffy room. A stove and sink with plates and glasses stacked high, a mircrowave, a futon. No TV or dining table. No counter space. Off the main area he can see a door open to a bedroom and beside that a bathroom. That’s it. No Harry, unless he’s hiding in the shower.

Another thought strikes him. “Is he staying with Nick?”

“Maybe he didn’t tell you this address because he’s pissed at you,” Kendall says, perching on the metal arm of the futon.

Louis sits down beside her. The cushion beneath his ass is soft and sinks down under his weight. He closes his eyes. “Can I, like… Can I stay here until he gets home from work?”

Cara laughs and then says, “Kendall’s understating the issue. Like, he must be _really, really_ pissed if he let you drive all the way to Chicago.”

Louis isn’t sure what she means and no one says anything more for several long seconds. He opens his eyes again, but it’s a struggle. The caffeine is not helping at all. He really needs a nap.

Cara and Kendall are not looking at him; they’re having their own private conversation with their very expressive eyebrows.

He can’t make heads or tails of it, so he closes his eyes again. He hopes they don’t decide to kick him out.

“Harry’s not here,” Kendall says, still watching Cara whose eyebrows are now so high they almost reach her hairline.

“Obviously,” Louis says.

“He left,” Kendall begins, but then Cara cuts her off with a tilt of her head.

“We have to tell him _something_ ,” Kendall says, bringing their conversation out into the open, finally using a language Louis can understand.

“Yes,” Louis says. “Please tell me something. At least that you’ll let me nap here for the morning.”

“I think we should call Harry first,” Cara says. “That’s what I would want him to do if I were him.”

Kendall shakes her head. “You’re not, though.”

To Louis, she says, “Harry left Chicago two days after we moved. I thought he was headed back to Lake County. Said we could stay in his place for the time being, if we paid him back for rent.“

“ _What? Why?”_

“I assumed it was because he wanted to get back with you, but apparently not,” Cara says. She’s wrapping a strand of hair around her forefinger.

“I didn’t even know he was home. He definitely hasn’t called or texted or _anything_ ,” Louis tells them. He moves forward to sit on the edge of the couch trying to process.

Why would Harry come home? Why would he come home and _not tell Louis_?

“Did he quit his job?” Louis asks. He begins to look around the apartment for signs of Harry. They’re easy to spot. The blanket balled up in the corner of the couch is Harry’s. The painting of ducks by the door is Harry’s. The dishes in the sink, _Harry’s_.

He must be planning to return.

Cara shrugs. “I’m not sure. I didn’t have the impression _he_ even had it all figured out.”

“Harry doesn’t do anything without having a plan,” Louis insists. “Did you ask him his plan?”

It’s Kendall who speaks up this time. “Louis, he’s not here. You’re gonna have to go back to Lake County to find out what’s going on with him. Why don’t you take a nap first, though? You don’t look like you’ve slept for days.”

Louis frowns at her. “I think I should probably-”

He begins to stand and the room spins around him. She’s right. But while he’d been desperate for a nap a minute ago, now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep.

“Just close your eyes a few minutes,” Kendall suggests. “We’re heading out in a bit to go shopping- for groceries. The door should lock automatically behind you, if you want to go before we get back.” She pulls the blanket out from where it’s tucked under the couch and hands it to Louis.

It smells faintly of Harry’s laundry detergent and Louis breathes it in deeply. Shamelessly.

“I don’t think he really hates you,” Kendall says.

“I think he might,” Cara counters.

Louis sighs and spreads himself out. Tucking the blanket around his legs, Louis says, “Thanks.”

~

Louis wakes up disoriented, unsure of where he is and why his back aches, with the hazy memory of a dream featuring Harry in his pink flowery shirt standing on the bow of Dan’s sailboat shouting at Louis _to_ _loosen the fucking lines._

Harry rarely shouts.

The clock on the microwave tells him it’s just after eleven.

He looks around for his phone and finds it on the floor. Opening it he sees that Harry’s replied to his voicemail by text, _it’s been two hours. where the fuck are you?_

And then, _you know what? go to hell._

He groans, and types, _I’m in Chicago_.

He sees that he also has a reply from Nick.

_If you’re still in town, I’d love to grab lunch._

For a moment, Louis regrets opening the message. Nick will see that he’s seen it and he doesn’t really want to respond. Of course, he could say that he’s left already.

He remembers the way Nick had teased Louis and Harry in the kitchen at the Farmhouse, the way his eyes had darted between the two of them knowingly, the twist of his mouth hinting at amusement and, perhaps, sadness.

It’d been Nick’s visit that had pushed Louis over the edge, helped him to take the next steps with Harry, he realizes now. The happy flutter in his belly when Nick had propositioned him and, later, Harry’s revelation that there was nothing between him and Nick, that he was too gone for Louis to pay attention to anyone else.

He messages back, _Where should I meet you? And when?_

~

An hour later he’s parallel parking several blocks away from the little diner to which Nick has directed him. For all the shit Nick had given them about Pizza Castle, this place looks greasy as fuck, not that Louis is complaining.

As Louis makes his way inside he sees there’s a line almost out the door. Nick’s already at the front of it, waving him forward.

He doesn’t hesitate to pull Louis into a hug and Louis feels for a moment like they’re life long friends, reunited after years apart, but then, when he pulls away, Nick’s nose is too large and his smile isn’t quite the what Louis remembers. They barely know each other at all.

Nick starts in on him as soon as they’re seated. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. I mean, you’re still handsome. My offer still stands. But, my god.”

Louis scowls at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m being honest. I say it like I see it.”

Louis shakes his head, biting back a smile. “I can see why Harry would want you for a boss, then.”

“About that,” Nick says, opening the menu.

The waitress walks up to their table and sets down a couple of glasses of water. Louis looks up at her with a smile. She smiles, too, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and back behind her ear.

“What can I get you?”

“What’s good here?” Louis asks.

“They’re known for their soups,” Nick tells him.

“Today’s is Navy Bean,” the waitress adds, nodding. “I’d also recommend the pork sandwiches. Best in the South Loop, no question about it.”

Louis doesn’t know what the hell a navy bean is and he doesn’t really have the energy to figure it out. He lets Nick order first and asks for the same.

Despite his nap, Nick’s right, he doesn’t feel like he’s slept in weeks.

And every time he thinks about Harry coming back to Lake County and _not_ contacting him, his exhaustion swells.

After a few moments of quiet, Louis staring blindly out at the street beyond Nick’s shoulder, Nick says, “Hey.”

Louis meets his gaze. It’s direct and serious. He says, “Everything is going to turn out alright.”

Louis blinks at him. He wants to disagree, but, more than that, he wants to know, “What’s happened with Harry? Cara and Kendall-they’re friends from Lake County staying at his apartment- they told me he went back home. Why? Doesn’t he have a job here? With you?”

Nick folds his hands together on the table and steeples his forefingers. “He quit.”

“He _what_?” Louis asks.

Nick chuckles. “I know. What a dick move, right?”

“Why would he do that?” He doesn’t understand. “He’s been preparing for this job all summer.”

One side of Nick’s mouth turns up. “Funny. I seem to recall that he spent the summer opening his own business _in your kitchen_.”

“That was only temporary. It didn’t really mean anything to him. He wanted to keep busy for a couple months until he could start with you.” That might be an understatement. Harry _loved_ Stylin’ Sweets. But that kind of thing simply wasn’t sustainable in Lake County. Lots of people had tried shit like it in the past; Harry couldn’t really count on it lasting long enough to make enough money to pay any bills.

“Well, it’s not anymore. He linked me to a website last night.”

“He _what?”_

The waitress returns with a glass of Mountain Dew for Louis and a coffee for Nick.

“Doing okay?” she asks.

Nick smiles absently at her, nodding.

“So you’re telling me that Harry has returned to Lake County to make a go of Stylin’ Sweets?! That doesn’t make any sense. He broke up with me because I wouldn’t move to Chicago with him, because I wanted him to stay in Edwardsville. If even some small part of him wanted to stick around, _why would he have done that_?”

Nick shrugs. And then a line appears between his eyebrows. “Maybe that’s not why he broke up with you.”

Of course it’s not the whole story. Louis remembers the coldness in Harry’s voice as he’d accused Louis of proposing to him to trap him.

But if he’d wanted to stay all along, _why would it have felt like a trap_?

Louis huffs out a breath. “I suppose it’s best he didn’t contact me. It won’t last, I’m sure. He’ll be back here by the end of January when he realizes his business isn’t going to take off and he hasn’t seen a glimpse of blue sky in weeks.”

The waitress sets down big mugs of soup in front of each of them. The steam wafts up, but Louis realizes he isn’t hungry at all.

Nick must be, though, because he digs in. Louis watches him silently.

The news that Harry’s really gone home, that he wants to make a go of it in Lake County should be a relief. It should make Louis _happy_ , should open up possibilities.

It doesn’t, though.

The fact that Harry’s been at his parents’ for nearly a week now and hasn’t contacted Louis brings home the finality of the situation.

Harry’d really left him _._ Not Lake County, but _Louis._

“I’d’ve thought you’d be happy to find out that he wasn’t here,” Nick says, setting down his spoon. “Or have you decided you want to try big city life, after all? I could help you find a place, if that’s what it is.”

“No, I don’t want to live here, not without Harry. And I’m not happy he’s back home because he didn’t go for me. He’s so done with me that he won’t even answer my calls or texts,” Louis replies. It’s not strictly true, but Louis doesn’t think ‘ _fuck off_ ’ and ‘ _go to hell’_ are solid beginnings for a romantic reunion.

“Louis,” Nick says, leaning forward, palms flat on either side of his mug of soup. “Can I be honest with you?”

“I hope you’d be honest with me.”

“I’m going to be honest with you. I was planning to stay another couple of days with Harry. I thought maybe I could convince him to forget whoever was holding his heart hostage up there. I assumed it was some hot, straight kid he’d known in high school, someone he didn’t have a chance with. I thought that if I could charm his mom and dad and show him that I could fit in a place like that, he might agree to give us a go. ”

Louis sips his Mountain Dew, letting the fizz settle for a moment on his tongue before nodding.

“I was right you were hot, but I realized immediately I was wrong about the straight part. Fuck, watching the two of you dance around each other in the river and then in the kitchen the next morning- I couldn’t. Harry was happier at home than I have ever seen him here.”

He pauses and takes a breath before continuing, “Listen, Louis. I’ve seen him laugh his ass off plenty of times. I’ve seen him charm room after room of strangers. The way he works a party- it’s magical. But I’d never seen him that relaxed, that totally open and at ease.”

Nick is describing a familiar feeling, Louis realizes. “I felt the same way when I first visited him in Chicago,” he says.

Nick shakes his head. His tired smile is creeping Louis out a little. “You know what those two scenarios have in common?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Not much.”

“You,” says Nick.

Louis sighs, his shoulders slumping. “He won’t even answer my calls.”

“All I can say is that he wanted to go home and I’m sure that part of ‘home’ for him, a big part, is _you_.”

It’s strange, to hear Nick all but quoting his own song back at him, especially so soon after his mom had done the same. He wonders how he and Harry have managed to make their feelings for each other so apparent. Or rather, his feelings and Harry’s _former_ feelings.

“I don’t know,” he hears himself say.

“Talk to him,” Nick presses, and then, “Or don’t. I mean if I was in your position, I probably wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t?” Louis asks.

“I’m an expert at repressing feelings for anyone aside from my dog. A real winner at staying single. I could give lessons, if you’d like.”

Louis moves his spoon around in his bowl of soup. He’s _not_ good at repressing his feelings, is the thing. Not once he’s noticed them, anyway.

And he has more than noticed his feelings for Harry. His feelings for Harry are taking up so much space, he barely has room for any other feelings at all.

Louis needs to tell Harry that he _does_ want to be with him, no matter where they are physically and he needs to know whether Harry is willing to believe him, to forgive him, to _stay_ with him.

~

The drive home from Chicago seems longer than the drive there. Louis has to fight the early afternoon traffic leaving the city, for one, and his almost overwhelming sleepiness, for another. He stops once for a Mountain Dew (Code Red, this time) and a pack of pizza Combos. While he’s waiting in line to pay, he tries calling Harry again.

No answer.

He must realize by now that Louis’d gone to Chicago to chase him down. And the fact that he _still_ won’t answer doesn’t bode well for Louis’ confession. But Louis has to try.

~

When he arrives back in Lake County, the sun is beginning to set.

He turns the radio on to the Fox. Queen is on- _Don’t Stop Me Now_ \- and the electric guitar sings through his veins.

Who the fuck does Harry think he is not to tell Louis that he’s back? And why the hell wouldn’t he answer his phone, especially after finding out the lengths that Louis’ been trying to go to get ahold of him?

Louis’ worked up a ball of righteous anger by the time he parks in front of Harry’s house, beside Harry’s Jeep, and walks up to the door. Robin answers, the dog yipping excitedly beside him.

“Louis?” he asks. “What’s going on? Have you heard back from the school?”

The question stops him in his tracks. Louis hasn’t thought about that since this morning. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to tell the principal tomorrow.

He blinks at Robin and stammers. “Um.”

But he can’t think about it now, so he shakes his head.

“I’m looking for Harry.” He hears an edge of bitterness in his voice. He doesn’t understand why no one told him that Harry was home. Even if Harry’d been too angry to talk to him, Robin should’ve said something, especially if the situation is as permanent as Nick had made it sound.

“Oh,” says Robin, face suddenly stony.

“Is he home?” Louis asks.

Robin tilts his head, assessing Louis, no doubt. He doesn’t say anything for several long moments and Louis is about to give up and turn around to go back home, when he says, “Yes. He was doing some yardwork, last I knew, helping his mom get her gardens ready for the winter.”

Anne and Robin’s backyard isn’t that large and it doesn’t take Louis long to realize that Harry isn’t in it. Anne is, though, kneeling by a mostly bare bed, a pile of brown ruffage beside her.

She greets him with a smile. “You must be looking for Harry.”

Her warmth surprises him.

Louis nods, cautiously, and her smile broadens. In that moment, with the low light of the setting sun casting her skin in a pinkish glow, she looks a lot like her son. She’s prettier, maybe, and definitely softer, but her wide smile and dark hair and strong jaw are powerfully reminiscent of Harry.

“I’m glad,” she says. Louis waits for her to explain herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she continues to smile at him. Finally, she says, “He’s down by the lake, I think. Maybe you boys could start to work on the dock.”

Louis has to refrain from snorting. He can’t imagine that he and Harry are going to be doing much of anything together tonight, aside from shouting.

But as he makes his way down the hill to the lakefront, he remembers that he _had_ promised Robin he’d have it out last weekend. He isn’t one to back down from his word and he does owe this family so much.

Harry’s spread eagle on his back at the end of the dock, his hands hanging over the sides of it, parallel to the water. He doesn’t move when Louis’ footsteps set the wood to creaking and when Louis is finally standing above him, he sees that Harry’s eyes are closed.

“Harry,” he whispers.

Harry remains still. Louis thinks he must be awake, pretending to be asleep and hoping Louis’ll go away.

Well, Louis is not going away, not yet.

He leans over. “Harry, stop being a dick.”

Harry does not open his eyes, but Louis would swear that he sees him stiffen. He squats down to nudge Harry shoulder with his knuckles.

“Hey, I know you can hear me. You said I should come talk to you. Here I am.”

Louis huffs out a breath. “Harry, come on.”

“I don’t want to talk. I’m too busy.”

“Busy doing what? Meditating?” Louis can hear that his voice has become shrill, but he’s losing patience. He’s spent much of the last twenty four hours on the road, and the time he’d spent talking with his mom, with Cara and Kendall and with Nick, had been even _more_ stressful than the driving. His back is sore and the dull ache behind his eyes is building, partly from keeping them open and focused for so long and partly from exhaustion.

He does not have the energy for Harry’s games.

Harry hoists himself up on his elbows and turns his head toward Louis. Even in the dusky light, Louis can make out the couple days worth of stubble on his jaw and the shadows under his eyes.

“I was thinking through how I was going to get this dock out by myself, since the man who promised Robin he’d do it bailed on us.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m here, now. I’ll help.”

Harry shakes his head. “You don’t need to. I’m sure you have all kinds of things around the farm to get done.”

“You know I don’t,” Louis replies. “Let me help.” He begins to pull off his sweatshirt, but Harry reaches out a hand to stop him.

“It’s fucking freezing.” Harry shrugs, “Did you bring your wetsuit?”

He’s right of course, the night air can’t be much warmer than fifty degrees. Jumping in the water now, even for a few moments, would be a good way to freeze his balls off, something Louis tries to avoid doing.

“I can go get it,” Louis says.

Harry shakes his head. “Tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

_Tomorrow, first thing in the morning_. That’s when Louis has to let the principal at Glen River know his decision. _Fuck_.

Harry must see the distress on his face because he scowls and says, “What are you even doing here anyway?”

And, _shit_ , that’s rich. “I could ask you the same fucking question?” Louis shoots back.

“This is where I live,” Harry replies, words slow, as if confused.

But Louis’ not fooled. Harry knows exactly what he’s asking. Still, he clarifies, “I was at your place about twelve hours ago. This is not it.”

Harry lays back down and the motion itches under Louis’ skin. It’s like Harry doesn’t even _care_ about the conversation, about the situation, about _Louis_.

But Louis isn’t going to be the one to leave, that’s not who he is, that’s not who he’ll ever be. He lays out beside Harry on the dock.

The sky above them is thick with clouds. Louis remembers the DJ on the Fox warning of a storm later in the night. He’s not worried about that, though; he misses the stars.

He can’t count how many times throughout their lives that they’ve lain right here, right like this, together, connected by laughter or memories or hopes or the press of one another’s skin.

Louis doesn’t feel connected tonight, though. Harry’s only inches away from him, but Louis can’t feel his heat or hear his breath. It’s as though he and Harry have been relegated to different planets. Except, no. That’s not quite right. Harry has left Louis’ planet, _their planet_ , for another.

“I never lied to you,” Harry tells him.

_You said you’d stay_ , Louis doesn’t say. Instead, he clenches his fists and waits for Harry to continue.

Harry does. “This summer was incredible. The best summer of my life. I’d forgotten how much I love Lake County.”

_What about how much you love me?_ Louis does not ask.

“This is my home. That’s why I’m here. Because it’s home. And home is where I want to be,” Harry says, firmly, emphasizing the last phrase.

He won’t say more unless Louis presses.

Louis closes his eyes. “You came back for your family, for the lakes, for Stylin’ Sweets,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

They’re quiet for a moment and then Harry says, “I’ve always wanted to run a bakery business. But it never really seemed possible in Chicago. Nick’s offer was so much money, and, of course, I really like him. I’d like helping him promote his show. I guess, until I this summer, I’d never even considered something like Stylin’ Sweets a real possibility.”

Louis’ patience is running thin, the anger he’d felt as he’d approached the house still simmering in his veins. He’s listening to Harry, but the words he’s saying don’t make sense.

“You went back to Chicago, though. You thought _I_ was going to go with you to Chicago,” Louis presses.

Harry doesn’t answer right away and Louis bangs his fist against the wood beneath them, cussing, “What the fuck, Harry?”

Harry sighs. “I know. I mean, that was the plan.”

Louis clenches and then unclenches his fists. Harry clarifies, “That was the plan for me, at least. I didn’t know what you’d be doing.”

“What changed? Cause it clearly wasn’t me, pouring my heart out to you,” Louis says. He knows it’s true. Obviously. But he’s holding out that maybe Harry will contradict him. Maybe there’s something here he’s missing.

“Chicago felt wrong,” Harry says, answering his question, but ignoring the second half of his statement.

Louis waits, hoping Harry will continue, will explain himself.

“The first night back, Cara and Kendall and I went out. Clubbing, I mean. Met up with a bunch of my friends.”

Louis closes his eyes tightly, picturing Harry in a sparkly, see-through shirt and skin tight jeans grinding up on someone else in the midst of a mass of bodies and glitter.

“Cara and Kendall were ecstatic. Drinking like champs. So excited about the fancy colors and liquor combinations. Making out on the dancefloor. And, like, I remembered when all that stuff had been exciting to me. But it wasn’t anymore.”

Louis remembers, too, from his visits. The flashing lights and thrumming bass were not so different from those at the occasional disco nights at Horan’s. What’d been hard for him to make sense of was the size of the place and the number of people. _So many people_. And all of them strangers.

He remembers being thrilled by it. He’d been dating Eleanor at the time and he’d regretted it, finding some appeal in the idea of hooking up with one of those strangers. It’s an experience he’ll probably never have now, he realizes.

Harry’s fallen silent. So Louis prompts him, “It wasn’t?”

“No,” Harry answers immediately. “I kept thinking about the beer tent. About the shitty lighting and even shittier popcorn at Tina’s. About walking into a place and not worrying what people would think of me because their opinions were formed years ago, probably when I won the Diaper Dash at Edwardsville Days as a ten month old.”

Louis laughs. Harry’s mom had hung the first place ribbon from that race on one of the mirrors in his room when he was still a baby. Louis’ pretty sure it hangs there to this day.

“What about your job? What about your friends? Your apartment?”

Harry sighs. “I tried to make homemade pretzels for a ‘Welcome Back Harry!’ movie night. That kitchen is so fucking small.”

“I bet they turned out fine anyway,” Louis says because he doubts Harry’d let a tiny kitchen get in his way.

“I thought they were good,” Harry says. “But no one else stuck around. Cara and Kendall wanted to go out again and my friends were excited to show everyone this new restaurant that’d opened up over the summer in Lincoln Park.”

“They chose a restaurant over your home cooking?” Louis says, appalled. Harry’s Chicago friends are fucking idiots, apparently.

Harry hums.

They’re quiet for a moment and Louis thinks about the meals Harry’d cooked him over the summer, the ease with which he’d moved about his kitchen, the particular half-curious, half-proud smile he’d worn every time he’d offered Louis a taste of this or that.

He can’t think of one restaurant experience that matched up, not even Pizza Castle, which is saying something.

“I showed Cara and Kendall around town the second day back, like how to use the trains and buses and which areas to avoid on weekends and in the summer when the tourists are out en masse. They stopped every few steps to look up in awe. Everything about the city was new and thrilling to them.”

Louis remembers Harry taking him on a similar trek, remembers feeling overwhelmed himself, remembers Harry’s own excitement, the pleasure and pride he’d seemed to feel in _belonging_ in such a fast-paced, glamorous place.

Still, now Louis hears the unspoken ‘but’ at the end of Harry’s monologue.

Something has changed.

“You’re not excited by it anymore, though?” Louis guesses, cringing because he can hear the way his voice lifts in hopeful, nearly gleeful, anticipation.

“No. Skyscrapers are cool. But, fuck,” Harry pauses. “Nothing in the city, no seventy story view or fantastic sculpture, makes me feel the same awe I feel when I stand at the Top of the World and nothing, no stroll through the park or run by the water, gives me the same peace as a hike through the woods out behind the Farmhouse.”

Louis’ heart soars. It sounds like- he allows himself finally to think it- it sounds like Harry might want to stay in Lake County permanently, after all.

Except that Harry hasn’t said a word about _Louis_.

He waits. He can have patience with Harry. He’s found, even though the itch to press him forward is near torture, waiting for Harry is always worth it.

“I felt the same way about the job, I guess,” Harry says, finally. “I went into my first meeting with Nick and all the planning and strategy, the calls and paperwork, it felt like _work_.”

“It was work, right? Isn’t that what it’s supposed to feel like?” Louis asks.

Harry hoists himself up onto his elbows again and Louis thinks he’s going to look down, into Louis’ face, but he doesn’t. His eyes stay fixed on the lake.

“That’s not what Sylin’ Sweets felt like. Cooking and baking feels like a natural part of life, to me.” He pauses and then adds, “It seems silly to say it’s a ‘calling’ but that’s how it feels.”

They’re both quiet and Louis thinks Harry might be waiting for him to respond. He can’t. He doesn’t know what to say.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m going to really try to make it with Stylin’ Sweets, see if I can get into some grocery stores. And Niall and I are talking about turning Horan’s into a coffee shop in the morning, maybe just on weekends and holidays to start.”

This is really happening, then. Harry’s moving home to Lake County.

“So you’re home, for good, maybe,” Louis murmurs, his voice is soft, low. Serious.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry replies. “That’s what I hope, at least.”

When Louis’d ventured out to Chicago last night, this scenario, he and Harry laying together a day later, Edward’s Lake lapping gently at the dock beneath them, and Harry confessing his intention to try to make a life in Lake County, had been too much to hope for, the very best outcome possible.

But now that it’s happening, Louis thinks it might actually be the worst.

“But you didn’t come back for me.” Harry’s said as much already, but Louis needs to be clear about this, needs closure.

The wind is picking up on the water and it whips over them with enough force to rustle Louis’ hair. He shivers. And he waits for Harry to answer.

“I came back because I didn’t want to be in Chicago any more,” Harry says, slowly. “I wanted to be here.”

“For the town, for your parents, for the scenery, for work,” Louis replies. His stomach rolls over and he remembers that he’s eaten nothing but sugar, caffeine, grease, and a few spoonfuls of soup in the last twenty-four hours.

“Yeah,” Harry rumbles. “I just-”

Louis cuts in almost immediately, “If you wanted to live here all along, then why did you get so mad at me for assuming you would. I wasn’t wrong! I don’t get it. Why did you leave if not for your job or friends or the city? Was it me? Why?”

Harry groans. “No, stop. You weren’t listening. I hadn’t figured it out yet, what I wanted. I told you I needed time.”

Louis sits up and looks at him, still on his elbows, still looking out at the lake. “Why didn’t you tell me when you figured it out? You should have driven straight back to me, moved back into the Farmhouse. You should’ve called me the moment you figured it out. We had something. We made promises. Why didn’t you tell me, Harry?”

He knows, though. Or suspects. It’s because Harry’d realized that Louis wasn’t enough. He might’ve realized that Lake County could be enough, but not Louis. Louis was too in the closet, too poor, too uneducated. Louis didn’t have anything to offer him but a crumbling home and a cheap ring.

At the thought of the ring, Louis eyes dart to Harry’s fingers.

They’re bare.

_Fuck_.

“You didn’t trust me; _you tried to trick me.”_ Harry’s words are slow and they slice.

“I wasn’t trying to trick you,” Louis mutters.

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job of convincing me otherwise.” Harry rises to his feet with these words.

Louis follows suit, standing as he speaks, “What do you mean?”

“You never called. The one time we talked over the phone you barely protested. Admit it, you didn’t really want to marry me, you just wanted me to stay here.”

“That’s not true,” Louis begins. He doesn’t what to say next, how to show Harry otherwise.

“If it wasn’t true, why didn’t you say so?”

“I _did_.”

“Once. If you really wanted to get married, like _forever forever_ , you wouldn’t have giv-”

“You _left_!” Louis cannot believe the words coming out of Harry’s mouth.

They’re facing each other now, practically toe to toe.

Harry’s nose almost bumps his as he shakes his head and says, “I came back. I’ve been back for days.”

“I didn’t know. I drove to Chicago, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re an idiot,” Harry says.

“I drove to Chicago to confess my love to you and you’re calling me an _idiot_?!”

They haven’t raised their voices, at least, not much, but Louis imagines that everyone on the whole lake can hear every damn word they’re saying.

But, well, _fuck it,_ he thinks. It’s not like he has much left to lose at this point.

“My jeep’s been in the driveway, plain to see. You should’ve realized I was home,” Harry tells him.

They’re still so close, mouths just a breath apart. Louis’ gaze flashes down to Harry’s lips, pink even in the dim dusky light.

“Well, I didn’t notice.”

“Obviously,” Harry replies and Louis watches him form the word, feels the breath of it against face, and then sees the shape of Harry’s _next_ word, before it’s out between them. “Dumbass.”

Louis shoves him off the dock and into the water.

Harry shrieks as he hits the water, the high-pitched noise skittering down Louis’ spine. He’s only under for a moment, before he’s surfacing and, voice cracking, shouting, “What the fuck.”

Louis folds his arms over his chest. “You’re a dick. I’ve just spent the last twenty-four hours trying to find you to confess my love and all you have to say to me is ‘Dumbass’? Well, fuck you!”

Harry’s already shivering. The water must be really cold, especially with the wind. But Louis refuses to feel bad. Harry _is_ being a dick. He deserves fucking frostbite. _Fuck_.

Harry walks toward him, water swirling around his middle, and shakes out his hair. Louis doesn’t feel the drops though, not through his jeans.

They look at each other for a moment, Harry panting heavily.

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of confessing your love,” Harry says. He still hasn’t caught his breath and the words come out labored, in between gasps of air. Then, suddenly, he reaches up with both arms to grab Louis’ legs and pull him into the water, too.

It’s so cold and Louis’ can’t breathe.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

He has no idea how the fuck Harry’d just stood there, sopping wet, suffocatingly cold, watching him, a moment before. Louis is not fucking waiting around in the cold-ass water. No way.

Instead, he rushes toward shore. When he pulls himself up onto the bank, he sees Harry just a few paces behind, still moving slowly, wringing out his hair.

Between gasps for air, Louis calls, “I’m going inside, gonna borrow a towel and pair of sweats. You owe me. Jesus.”

His jeans tug at the hair on his legs as he makes his way up the steps, wincing. The wind is at his back, thank fuck, but it’s still _freezing._

He sees, now, days too late, apparently, that Harry’s jeep is indeed in the driveway. However, Anne’s old, beaten-up Subaru seems to have disappeared.

Harry’s behind him, moving more quickly now, but Louis still arrives at the door first. Attached to the front of it is a note from Harry’s mom. It’s addressed to Harry. She and Robin have gone into Lakeland for dinner and a movie. They hope he’s resolved things with Louis.

Louis takes a deep breath and snatches the note, crumpling it in his fist. At least Harry’s parents appreciate him.

Over his shoulder, he says, “Your parents have gone out on a date.”

Harry hums and follows him into his room, shutting the door behind them with a heavy thud and click.

In the mirror, Louis sees Harry begin to peel off his clothes. His skin is bright red from the water and he stops moving every few seconds as his body is wracked by shudders.

Louis shouldn’t have pushed him into the water. That was cruel.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Harry blinks at him.

“For pushing you into the river and for not realizing you were home. I’m sorry for not being clear about what I wanted for us.” The words spill out. He’d planned the apology, well, the last bit at least, on his way to Chicago.

With the realization that Harry’d come back and hadn’t searched him out, sensing that Harry might have really, actually meant to leave _him_ , Louis’d discarded the words, afraid they’d leave him open for Harry to hurt. Again.

Looking at Harry’s pink, shivering reflection, hair plastered to his head, eyes wide and confused, Louis thinks that whatever Harry wants- to leave or to come back or…- whatever he wants, he doesn’t want to hurt Louis.

Harry chews his lip for a moment and then his hands fly to the bottom of his white undershirt. He toys with the edge of the fabric before saying, “I’m sorry, too. For pulling you in, for leaving before we really talked things out, for not telling you I’d come home.”

“Really?” Louis asks.

He thinks Harry nods, but the motion gets caught in the white cotton being pulled up and over his head.

Louis’ eyes catch on a glint of silver. Harry’s wearing a necklace. Harry’s wearing-

“Is that the ring?” Louis asks, turning around and stepping toward him, finger pointing at what _is absolutely_ the _ring._

Harry finishes pulling off his shirt and tosses it to the ground. He meets Louis’ eyes, shooting him a sad, upside down smile.

“You’re wearing the ring,” Louis says, reaching out to touch it.

Harry nods. “I-” he begins and then stops.

“I thought you’d throw in Lake Michigan or something,” Louis tells him, because that’s what he would have done in Harry’s place, probably.

“I thought about it,” Harry says, lips twitching upwards. “I took it out to the end of Navy Pier and held it over the water, like Rose at the end of Titanic.”

“You did not,” Louis replies, immediately, even though he can imagine Harry’s fist hovering just so.

“I didn’t,” Harry laughs.

“Why not?” Louis asks.

“Because,” Harry sighs, fingering the ring. Louis’ eyes flick to the mirror over Harry’s shoulder, suddenly fascinated by the way Harry’s hair is beginning to fluff out as it dries.

Harry remains quiet.

Louis doesn’t prompt Harry to continue even though his pause stretches Louis out like some sadistic medieval torture device.

Harry chews his lip, meets Louis’ eyes, and then looks away. Finally, he murmurs, “Because I still love you. I guess I still sort of hope we can work things out, you know?”

“You do?” Louis asks, dumbfounded.

Harry doesn’t answer, instead he pulls down his pants and underwear. Then, completely naked save the necklace and ring, he moves to sit on the twin bed closer to the door, the one Louis’d slept on as a boy.

“I mean, I don’t like that you tricked me or that you didn’t call me for days afterward. But I don’t think you meant to push me away.”

Louis sits down beside him, careful to leave several inches between their thighs. In the mirror opposite them he can see Harry’s forehead as he looks down at his bare legs.

Louis realizes he’s still wearing his wet clothes and that they’re both shivering.

“I didn’t mean to push away. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t even mean to trick you,” Louis says. It’s all true. But there’s more he wants to be clear about. “I didn’t know how to convince you to stay with me, yeah, but I _wanted_ you to stay with me. Forever. Like married forever. And I didn’t call you right away because…”

Louis trails off as he tries to sort what had happened between the day Harry’d cut off their phone conversation and Louis’ late night decision to drive to Chicago.

“Because I left you,” Harry finishes for him.

“I didn’t think you wanted me,” Louis agrees. “I thought _you’d_ already given up.”

“I hadn’t,” Harry whispers. “I checked my phone almost constantly waiting for you to call or text or Facebook message. Something. Anything.”

He reaches between them pulls at Louis’ soggy sweatshirt. “You’re shivering, Lou. Fuck. Let’s get this off.”

Louis’ clothes come off quickly, so quickly he’s not sure whose hands do what, and suddenly they’re standing between the end of the bed and the mirror opposite.

Harry has so many fucking mirrors in his room. Both of their bare bodies are reflected infinitely in glass all around them.

“I love you. I want to make this work. That’s what I drove to Chicago to tell you,” Louis says.

“I love you, too.” Harry smiles; it’s lopsided, but one of his dimples still pops. He takes a breath, still sort of smiling, and adds, “Let’s finish this conversation somewhere warmer.”

Louis’d thought they’d put clothes on-he’s been eying the blue puddle of cloth in the corner behind the door that he’s sure is a pair of _his_ sweatpants- but Harry seems to have other ideas.

He’s crawling up the far bed and then pulling back the covers. Louis begins to move toward the other bed.

“Hey, no,” Harry says. “With me.” He beckons Louis.

Louis hesitates. Being pressed naked to Harry on that tiny twin bed doesn’t seem like a good idea, not when they’ve only just barely made up. Not when they haven’t really begun to sort things out.

“You still want to marry me, right?” Harry asks, waggling his eyebrows. “That’s what you said.”

“I mean, yeah...” Louis says, stepping closer.

“Then don’t be a prude.”

Louis laughs, but stays where he is, his thighs a foot or so away from Harry’s batting eyelashes. “You sound like your mom.”

Harry’s laughing, too. “Come on, Lou.” He waggles his eyebrows again.

Louis relents.

They’re probably going to be able to make this work, he realizes. He and Harry are maybe going to get their forever. Probably right here, in Lake County.

Even though he’s been under the blankets for a good minute now, Harry’s skin is still chilly to the touch as Louis crawls in beside him.

Once he’s settled, Harry pulls the comforter over their heads. It’s dark, but Louis can feel the hair on Harry’s calves against the bottoms of his feet and the hot, damp hiss of each breath he takes.

“I can’t believe,” Harry whispers, “that you drove all the way to Chicago when I was just down the road.”

His words sting and Louis almost retorts, ‘ _why didn’t you tell me?’_ but then he remembers that Harry’d been hurt, too, and that Harry _hadn’t_ come back for him.

And yet, “I can’t believe,” Louis whispers back, “that you are still wearing my ring.”

Harry wraps his arms around Louis, pressing their bare bodies together, and the cold, heavy reminder of Louis’ proposal and Harry’s _yes_ touches his chest, too.

“I can’t believe we still love each other. That you’re _in love_ with me at all still seems like dream, something out of one of my teenaged fantasies.”

Harry’s voice cracks as he says this and, in the darkness, Louis doesn’t know if it’s with laughter or with a heavier emotion.

“I can’t believe,” he takes a breath, “that we’re going to try to make this work.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Louis’ warm he realizes and so is Harry against him.

Actually, the air around them has become suffocatingly hot. Harry pulls back the blankets. His eyes are sparkling.

“Are we?”

“I want to,” Louis replies.

“Me, too,” Harry says, and leans forward to kiss him.

It’s a sweet kiss. Probably because Harry tastes _sweet_. Louis licks in, trying to pinpoint the exact flavor.

Harry pulls back. “I get that you missed me, but...”

Louis frowns at him, stomach dropping. “But?”

“But what’s with all the tongue?”

Louis laughs. He feels like he hasn’t laughed this much in weeks. Hell, he probably hasn’t. “You taste like fruit, I think. Apples.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs, too. Louis wonders if his recent days have been equally miserable.

“I did make an apple pie earlier,” Harry says.

“Made it or ate it?”

“Both?” Harry bats his eyelashes and touches Louis’ cheek. “But don’t worry. There’s still some for you.”

Louis leans in for another light kiss. “Later.”

“Later.” Harry nods and their noses brush. “I want you to fuck me first.”

The words are blunt, but not surprising. Harry’s not one to dance around the subject of sex and Louis’d been feeling his cock harden between them, slowly, over the last couple of minutes.

Harry’s gaze holds an urgency that Louis doesn’t feel.

Louis lets his eyes roam Harry’s body; he wants a moment to really appreciate the view he’s been denied since Harry’d left. He’s missed the roundness of Harry’s cheeks, the cut of his jaw, and, of course, the deep dimples that form as he watches Louis back, smiling.

“Well?” Harry asks. “Or has your dick broken since I’ve left?”

Louis grabs Harry’s hand from where it’s resting between their bodies underneath the bedspread and lays it atop his half-hard cock. “Why don’t you find out?”

Harry narrows his eyes and then they both begin to laugh again.

Untangling himself from Harry, Louis sits back on his haunches.

He runs his hands up and down his thighs. “My dick’s doing alright, as you can see.”

“I can see,” Harry agrees, wide eyes focused with a lecherous glint on Louis’ crotch.

“Well then,” Louis says, waiting for Harry to turn over. But Harry doesn’t move. No, he continues to watch Louis, draped over the pillows, leaning against the headboard.

After a moment, Harry tilts his head, “Well? I thought we were going to make up for lost time.”

“Well, I thought we were going fuck out our apologies,” Louis counters, putting his hands on his hips.

Harry’s eyes sparkle. “Let’s do both.”

Louis nods, because it’s a good idea. He’s having a lot of feelings right now and he thinks their sex will probably be able to catch all of them. Over the course of the evening.

Over the course of a lifetime. Together. _Fuck._

Harry still hasn’t moved though. So damn slow.

Louis wonders if he’s really ready for a forever that moves at this pace. But then Harry juts his chin and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Louis’ bicep. Voice a rasp, he asks, “ _Well_?”

Harry’s grip is strong and his eyes are bright and Louis wishes he would keep talking.

“What are you waiting for?” Harry asks.

“What are _you_ waiting for?” Louis shoots back because _he’s_ waiting for _Harry_ to roll over.

Harry cocks his hips up. “You,” he says.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I want to prep you and-” he begins, but Harry cuts him off.

“Then, prep me. Like this. I want to see you,” he says. “I’ve missed looking at you.”

Louis holds Harry’s gaze. He gets that, he does. He’s missed Harry, too. And the thought that Harry wants to _look_ at him, well, it’s a lot.

But front to front had been so awkward for them that first time and Louis wants this to be awesome sex, the best. He knows that really good, _kinky_ , sex is important to Harry and he still feels as though he has something to prove. Harry needs to understand how much Louis is willing to do make this work, how deeply he loves Harry, how serious he’d been when he asked for forever.

He’s about to say as much, but before he’s formed the words, Harry brings a hand up to Louis’ face and says, “Please.”

“Okay.” Louis relents, of course, he does. He’s not going to deny Harry this, not now. He’ll just have to give it his all and hope it works out.

Louis preps Harry slowly, carefully, one slick finger at a time, gently searching for Harry’s pleasure points. Harry’s quiet, even when his muscles clench, and so Louis keeps his gaze fixed on Harry’s face. His jaw is slack and his eyes are half-closed, but he’s looking back at Louis.

“I’m ready,” he says, or rumbles, really, voice too low to count even as a whisper.

Louis moves to his knees, lining himself up and then pausing to meet Harry’s eyes.

“I said,” Harry chokes out with more force. “I’m ready.”

Still, Louis waits, eyes downcast as his cock brushes against Harry’s pink skin.

“Lou.” Harry’s voice is both broken and strangely smooth, like beach glass, rubbing pleasantly over Louis.

Louis looks up and into his eyes. They’re so wide, so open. And for a moment Louis takes stock of the surprising situation.

Harry bare, open, letting Louis in again, even though Harry knows he’s given to panicking, to rushing, to fucking shit up.

“You’re incredible,” Louis says.

Harry tries to shake his head, the curls framing his face moving like waves on the water.

“You are,” Harry replies. He reaches up and tweaks one of Louis’ nipples.

Louis squeaks but is able to refrain from twitching out of his reach. “Hey.”

“Look at you.”

“I can’t see _me_ ,” Louis tells him.

Harry twists neck and nods. “In the mirror.”

Louis follows his gaze. His face looks shadowed, hollow, like he hasn’t slept in days. Which, he hasn’t, not well, anyway. And he can see the pudge at the top of his belly from too much beer and Pizza Castle. Luckily, the worst of it is blocked by Harry’s leg.

He turns back to frown at Harry. “This mirror thing would be a lot sexier if I could see more of _you_.”

Harry smirks, propping himself up on one elbow, lowering one knee and cocking his hips toward the mirror. “Like this?”

Now Louis can see both their cocks, can see Harry’s hand reach between them and wrap around Louis’.

And, yeah. _Fuck_. That’s _hot_ \- the view, the feel of Harry’s fingers, the slippery press of Louis’ head against Harry’s hole.

“See,” Harry says. “You’re gorgeous. All of you.”

Their eyes meet. The intensity of Harry’s gaze and the honesty loaded in his words land heavily on Louis’ chest.

He forces out a laugh and moves his fingers to pry Harry’s loose from where they’re still wrapped round his cock. “Yeah?”

Harry tightens his grip and Louis gasps, his head falling back. “Damn.”

“I could. But not right now.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees. “Later.”

Harry guides Louis’ cock inside, with a groan.

~

Louis’ eyes are closed, but he can feel Harry leaning over him, can hear the dozen unspoken questions that still sit between them.

They didn’t mean to hurt each other. They love each other. They want to make things work.

But.

“This bed is too small for both of us to spend the night in,” Harry whispers.

“We’ve done it before,” Louis replies, even though he’s not eager to repeat the experience. He feels sticky. Dirty. Exhausted to his core.

“You don’t really want to sleep like this,” Harry tells him. “I know you.”

Harry’s right. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t want to move either.

The front door slams shut and Louis remembers Harry’s parents, remembers Robin’s defensiveness and Anne’s hopeful little smile, as she sent him down to find Harry. Louis’ truck is still parked outside so they must have some idea of what’s happened between him and their son.

He wonders if he and Harry could hide here in Harry’s room for the night, if he would be able to sneak out first thing in the morning without ever having to confront them.

It’s not that he doesn’t want them to know that he was here or that he and Harry are trying to work things things out. But, it’s just, Louis’ not sure that they’ve _finished_ working things out yet and he’s not ready to bring anyone else into the conversation.

There’s a knock at Harry’s bedroom door.

“Harry? Louis?” Anne calls.

Harry sits up, pushing back the comforter just as Louis reaches down to pull it tighter.

Harry scoots up the bed. “Can I invite them in?” He whispers. Loudly.

Louis sighs and nods.

“I don’t want in, Harry. Just wanted to know if you and Louis wanted some leftover breadsticks from Pizza Castle.” Anne’s tone is more curious than kind.

“Maybe in a little bit,” Louis replies, because cheesy, greasy dough dipped in Pizza Castle BBQ sauce sounds like just the thing to pull him out of this sleepy stupor.

“I know arguing can wear a person out. And so can _making up_. Yeah?” She leans on the last few words, loading them with suggestion.

“Mom, go away,” Harry groans, burying his face in his hands.

Louis grins. “Yeah, it definitely can.”

Harry glares at him from between his fingers and Louis shrugs.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Anne says.

~

Twenty minutes later, decked out in grey and orange Laker’s sweats, they join Anne and Robin at the kitchen table. The clock on the oven reads 10pm and Robin’s head is leaning against wall behind him, eyes shut.

Louis immediately opens the pizza box on the table and lifts a breadstick to his mouth to nibble.

Anne folds up the magazine she’s reading and smiles at them, tapping her fingers against the glossy cover. Her nails match the pink behind the girl in the wedding gown.

Anne is reading a bridal magazine.

“Something you want to tell us?” Louis asks, smiling and nodding at the table.

Anne’s brows draw together- an expression Harry uses all the time- and she shakes her head. But then she looks down and laughs.

“Well, I guess so. I’ve spoken to the folks at the Art Gallery right on Glen River, you know the one I mean with the deck and the sculpture that looks like robotic seagull? I think we’d probably be able to afford to rent the main room, but Saturday evenings are filling up fast.”

Louis blinks at her.

She’s talking about his and Harry’s wedding, he realizes. She thinks it’s still on. He looks at Harry who’s grinning down at the magazine.

It _is_ still on, probably.

Louis smiles around another bite of breadstick. “We hadn’t even really begun to plan things. I mean two days ago we weren’t even talking,” Louis explains.

“Yes, well,” Anne says. “You are now and we need to figure out where we’re going to throw your Engagement Party quickly.”

“Mom, can you just chill?”

“Oh,” she looks between them. “It’s not- you’ve decided not to do it, then.”

“No, we are,” Louis corrects because that’s not what they’ve decided. They haven’t really decided _anything_ , but he’d just thought-

“We are?” Harry asks, his eyes focused intently on Louis, his voice a whisper.

“I mean, if you still want to, I do,” Louis says.

“We don’t have to,” Harry replies. “If you’re not ready.”

Louis dusts off his fingers and sidles closer to Harry, so that their arms are touching. “I want to. But let’s take it slowly.”

“Good, yeah,” Harry nods, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder.

“I know you’re good at drawing things out,” Louis drawls.

Anne hiccups out an awkward laugh and Robin’s eyes blink open, his body twitching awake. He looks over the three of them and frowns. “Louis.”

“Robin,” Louis replies cautiously.

“Have you heard back from the school?” He asks.

Louis promptly sits down, luckily managing to land in one of the chairs beside him. “Oh god,” he says. He’s supposed to let the Mrs. Holland know tomorrow.

He looks at Harry, whose arms are crossed over his chest as he looks back at Louis, one eyebrow raised. “Heard back from what school? About what? Have you applied to college, for real this time?”

“I got the cafeteria job, if I want it,” he says. The words come out slow, slower than Harry’s usually do. He’s not sure why he’s so hesitant to say so. This should be a good thing.

“I thought you definitely wanted it?” Harry says. “You do, right? Why didn’t you take it right away?”

“I, um...” Louis takes another bite of breadstick. Fuck, he’s such a loser.

“You’re really wonderful with kids and you seem to enjoy them,” Robin puts in. His eyes are drooping shut again. “And God knows it’s probably more stable than working with me.”

“Oh yeah,” Anne puts in. “Louis, I remember your mom telling me about Edna- you boys remember Edna, right?- anyway, Edna worked in the Edwardsville cafeteria when _she_ was a kid. Forty years at the same job. Can you imagine? Sounds like a good gig to me, Louis.”

All three of them are looking at Louis. “I wanted to say ‘yes,’” Louis admits. “But I kind of thought I might be moving to Chicago.”

Robin’s eyes blink open. “Well, that’d be a damn shame what with Harry moving back here.”

Nobody says anything else for several long seconds. For some reason, Louis doesn’t want to admit that he’d been thinking of moving _because of Harry_ , especially not with Harry’s parents as an audience.

“You were thinking about leaving the Farmhouse, _home_ , and moving to Chicago?” Harry asks finally, words careful and filled with wonder.

“I’m…” He looks around at the three of them, Robin and Anne watching him with the same intensity as Harry. “Home, for me, is where you are. I meant that.”

It’s quiet but for the ticking of the clock in the next room.

Louis wants Harry to answer, to tell him that he feels the same way, but he doesn’t speak. Louis reaches for the last of the breadsticks, even though he doesn’t want to eat it.

Because, suddenly, he feels too tired to eat. Too tired to do much of anything, really. Definitely too tired to sit here under the weight of Robin and Anne’s gazes.

Harry sits down beside Louis and, finally, he murmurs, “I think you should take that job.”

Louis looks at his fingers where they’re wrapped around the breadstick. He’s got a fleck of paint below the knuckle on his ring finger. “Yeah?”

“I’m here. Home is here. Take the job,” Harry whispers.

Robin’s chair gives a loud creak as he pushes himself up on the table, standing. “Well, I’m awake _way_ past my bedtime. And it’ll be a busy day tomorrow- my foreman’s got himself a new job.”

Louis frowns. “I thought you wanted me to- I don’t mean to leave you-”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, son,” Robin says, gripping Louis’ shoulder. “I’ll admit. I was worried about the long-term with you two. Harry’s got ambition, _big dreams_. Always has. I didn’t want that stifled. But then his mom talked some sense. Those dreams include _you_.”

Then, to Harry, he says, “Glad you’re home, kid. But you’re mom wants your room cleared for her banner making projects, so don’t get too comfortable. I hear there’s plenty of stuffed animal storage down the road a mile or so. ”

Harry chews his lip. “Yeah, um, yeah.”

Robin’s dog follows him out of the room with a skip and a yip.

Anne sighs. “I’m going to go to bed, too. Do you boys think you’ll stay here tonight?”

“No,” Harry answers. He’s looking at Louis with a bemused smile.

“We’re gonna head back to the Farmhouse,” Louis adds. “I have something I need to show Harry.”

He doesn’t really, but he feels for some reason like he needs an explanation.

“Oh wow. As I’ve said before, there are some things a mother-”

“Go to bed,” Harry instructs, rubbing at his eyes.

And she does.

Harry drives them back to the Farmhouse in his jeep. Louis can’t bear the thought of them being apart even for the short few minutes of the drive. He’s not ready for that yet. He feels like if he lets Harry out of his sights for a moment, he might disappear again.

Not the he thinks Harry wants to leave him again. But just.

“I’ve missed you,” Harry says, as he pulls into Louis’ driveway. “I was so tempted to drive over here. The night I came in from Chicago I made it all the way to the end of your driveway before turning around and going back to my parents’.”

“I thought you didn’t come back for me,” Louis says.

Harry sighs and then, voice small, says, “I didn’t come back _only_ for you.”

Louis turns in his seat to look at him. The jeep is stopped now and the motion sensor light on the house has kicked on, illuminating the inside of the vehicle.

“But you did come back for me,” Louis says.

Harry moves so that they’re facing one another. “Yeah, Lou. I did. At the beginning of the summer, too.”

Louis leans in and kisses him.

“I love you,” he says.

~

When Louis enters the kitchen, he smells something sweet and doughy coming from the oven. Harry’s at the big, old table on his laptop, a frown furrowing his brow, but when he hears Louis’ footsteps, he looks up and smiles.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Louis grunts and walks over to the coffee pot to pour himself a, thankfully, already brewed cup.

 

“I’m making a list of things we need to do today,” Harry explains.

 

Mug in hand, Louis peeks into the oven. Muffins puff over the top of the tin. Louis can see the gooey, melty spots of chocolate chip. Harry really does love him.

 

“First thing on the list,” Harry continues. “You’ve got to call the principal at Glen River with your decision.”

 

“You think I should go back to school for myself,” Louis says. He remembers Harry’s suggestion from last night. Louis wants that, too, wants to be able to provide for his _future husband_ in the way that only someone with a college degree seems to be able these days.

 

_And Louis,_ a voice that sounds suspiciously like his mother’s reminds him, _think of the scandal if the Glen River school board found out about you and Harry. You’d lose the job, anyway._

 

“If you want,” Harry says, moving the laptop away from him and turning his body to face Louis more fully.

 

“I don’t know what I want,” Louis says. It’s not _exactly_ true.

 

“I think you do. I think you want to take that job,” Harry says. “And I think that’s what you should do. The community college has a lot classes in the evening and online.”

 

“Really?” Louis asks, sitting down beside Harry. They’re close enough that their elbows are touching.

 

“You’ve wanted to work in one of the schools around here for years,” Harry says, nodding.

 

Louis moves in for a kiss. It’s just a short smidge of a thing, the kind of kiss that’d been routine in the weeks _before._ Now, _after_ , it’s more.

 

“I have,” he says, sitting back and shaking his head to clear it. If he’s about to call his new boss to accept a new job, a job which he has indeed wanted for years, then he needs to get his shit together.

 

“After that we need to load up my stuff from my mom’s to bring over. And, after that, we need to help Robin with the dock. And then we _need_ to go grocery shopping.”

 

Louis blinks. He needs to _wake_ the fuck _up_. This conversation feels more than a little like a dream.

 

“You’re really here,” he tells Harry.

 

Harry shuts his laptop, nodding. “Yeah, Louis. I’m here.”

 

“You’re really moving in.” He’s been feeling so slow. Usually, Harry is the one that moves slowly and talks slowly and sometimes even _thinks_ slowly. But Louis’ mind can not catch up to the fact that he has Harry back. For good. Forever.

 

Harry reaches around Louis’ middle and tugs at him. The movement jostles Louis’ coffee, a little bit spilling over the edge and onto Louis’ hand.

 

“What are you-“ he begins to ask.

 

“Sit on my lap,” Harry interrupts.

 

“I’m not-“ Louis protests, but Harry tugs again, harder and this time coffee spills onto the tabletop.

 

Louis scoots onto Harry’s lap and relaxes against his chest, swiping at the spilled coffee with his bare forearm. Harry laughs out a breath into his ear. “I’m glad I came home.”

 

“Me, too,” Louis replies.

 

~

 

Louis is helping Harry put away groceries when his mom calls. She’s been trying to reach him all afternoon. She’d called twice when they were taking out the dock and again when they were driving into Lakeland to grocery shop.

 

Louis hadn’t answered and had ignored her texts pleading for an update.

 

But he knows he needs to respond eventually. And Louis thinks he’s ready, now that they’ve sorted things out, he and Harry.

 

He points to his phone and nods at Harry, mouthing, “My mom.”

 

Harry frowns and continues to pull various fresh vegetables out of his cloth shopping bag.

 

“Hey, mom,” he says.

 

“Louis!” She sounds surprised. “Hey, honey! I’m so glad you’re alive. I’d worried about you with all that driving you’ve been doing.”

 

“All the driving…”

 

“Carol said she saw your car back at the Farmhouse last night, so I knew you’d driven to Chicago and back. She also said Harry’s been moving his stuff in...”

 

His mom lets the sentence hang.

 

Louis doesn’t quite know how to respond. He’d mostly wanted to update her on the job. He’d been hoping to avoid the subject of Harry, futile though that hope may have been.

“Yeah, Carol’s right. Harry’s here,” Louis says.

Harry whirls around and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh,” his mom coos. “I told you he’d come back for you.”

He huffs. “He didn’t, um, not for me. Not _just_ for me. He’s really going to try to make a go of Stylin’ Sweets. And he said the city didn’t feel right, not after this summer.”

His mother hums. “So when is the wedding?”

Harry’s frowning and Louis realizes that he doesn’t know that Louis’ mom knows about them. This is not how Louis wants him to find out either.

“I think we’re going to take our time planning. Maybe Fizzy can help, god knows she’s got a load of ideas on her pinterest board.” He figures that’s vague enough that Harry will assume that he’s talking about opening up a shop or something.

“Fizzy? Does she know?” His mother sounds scandalized.

“Know what, mom? About Stylin’ Sweets? That Harry’s home? I doubt it.”

Harry’s turned toward the sink, his back now facing Louis, shoulders tense. Louis’ family is clearly still a sore subject.

“That’s not what I mean, Louis, and you know it.”

Louis takes a sip of coffee- his third fourth mug of the day- and closes his eyes as he swallows.

“She, um-” He can’t have this conversation right now. “Mom, I can’t do this right now. We’re still moving stuff in. I told Harry I’d help with dinner.”

“You’d better help with dinner. I know Harry likes to dote on you, but I raised you to pull your own weight around the house. Tell him I said ‘hi’ and that I’m glad he’s back.”

“I will,” Louis agrees, thumping his toe against baseboard below the counter.

“Now, tell him now,” she insists.

He rolls his eyes. “Harry, my mom says ‘hi’ and that she’s glad you’re back in Edwardsville.” To his mom, he says, “There. Are you happy?”

Harry stays focused on the cupboard he’s rearranging, as he replies, “Tell her I say ‘hello’ back.” At the same time, Louis’ mom says into his other ear, “Well, what did he say?”

“He said ‘hello.’ I’ve got to go,” Louis presses, banging his toe harder now.

“Okay, sweetie. Anne told me that she wants to throw a small engagement party or something, so call me soon so that we can talk through the details, set a date.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees, not because he actually plans to talk to her about an engagement party, but because he needs to hang up the goddamn phone.

When he’s finally able to click off, Harry’s leaning against the counter, watching him. “You told her that I’m back, that I’m moving in with you.”

“You’re here. It’s not like I could hide you from her for long. It’s her house, after all.” The words come out more harsh than Louis means them and Harry winces and begins to turn around, back toward dinner.

“No,” Louis corrects. “Wait.”

Harry’s shoulders remain tense and he turns on the water. Over the rush of the faucet, he says, “It’s fine. I knew this wouldn’t be different. You never promised otherwise. I don’t want to make you come out if you don-”

“It _is_ different,” Louis says. Speaking quickly, he adds, “She knows about us. That we’re a couple. She was trying to get me to plan our engagement party over the phone, right then.”

Harry turns off the water. “She figured it out?” He pauses and then says, “I told you she knew.”

“You were right,” Louis admits. “She loves you. She wants us to be happy.”

Harry whirls around. He’s wearing his upside down smile. “Good,” he says. He reaches out and takes Louis’ hand. Linking their fingers, he asks, “How did you find out that she knew?”

Louis tilts his head to the side. He wants to tell Harry all about the late night conversation, about the revelation it’d been to learn that his mother hadn’t been left by all those men after all.

“She came over. After you left.”

Harry blinks and waits for him to continue.

Louis takes a deep breath. “She was trying to tell me all these things about my life and how I should live it. That I shouldn’t have let you go back to Chicago, mainly. And that made me so mad. So I just spat it out. That you and I had been together, like _together_ together. _._ ”

“You just spat it out. Wait. So. Telling her was an angry mistake?” Harry says the words slowly as if he were repeating exactly what Louis’d said and not putting words into Louis’ mouth.

“No. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her for a long time. But I needed some, um, motivation.”

Harry’s gaze is cloudy, and he’s looking somewhere beyond Louis, maybe at Louis’ grandma’s needlepoint on the wall: _Home is where the heart is._

He wants to reach out to Harry, to shake him into understanding.

But then Harry’s reaching out to him, wrapping him in a hug, whispering into his ear, “I’m proud of you.”

Louis’ arms come round his middle and he squeezes tightly. “It was hard,” Louis says. “Not the telling, the wanting to tell.”

“I know,” Harry whispers. He steps back. His eyes look wet. “And now she’s in cahoots with my mom to plan our wedding? That’s…” He stops. He doesn’t seem to have the right word. Louis doesn’t know it either.

He thinks about the conversation he’d just had with her, though, and frowns. “She doesn’t want to tell the girls.”

Harry’s eyes bug out. “She what?”

“She doesn’t want me to tell the girls about us.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry says, turning back to the sink. “They probably already know, too.”

Louis wants to disagree, but Harry’d been right about his mom, so instead he considers the possibility for a moment. Then, he says, “Either way, they love you, maybe even better than they love me. I’m sure they’ll be excited to plan another wedding.”

Harry wipes his hands on a blue towel that seems to have appeared out of nowhere. (Louis certainly hadn’t hung it on the stove.) “Didn’t Lottie have to put a ban on the topic of her wedding at your house?”

“With my mom,” Louis answers, remembering. “She’d had too many opinions, apparently. Lottie wanted the thing to be _her_ wedding, not my mom’s.” He takes a breath. “I say we let my mom plan the whole thing. Sounds convenient. We certainly don’t need to waste our time and money on it.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m looking forward to choosing the food, baking the cake. Do you know how many samples-”

He cuts off and walks over to Louis, reaching up to touch his face. “We were gonna take this slowly.”

Louis nods into his hand. Slowly for them apparently means moving back in together the day after they’ve made up and planning a wedding.

Softly, he says, “We’ve been building up to this since we were seven and nine. Don’t you think that’s slow enough?”

Harry’s hand slides down and grips his shoulder. Louis leans in so that their foreheads press together.

“Lou, things are different than when I was seven.”

Their mouths are so close that Louis can feel Harry’s breath. “Yeah, I know. Should we call off the wedding, for now? Like say we’re engaged, but that it’ll be a while yet before we even put the big day on the calendar?”

Harry presses their lips together. It’s a soft kiss but longer than Louis expects and just as he’s pushing into it, Harry pulls back.

“We haven’t put anything on the calendar yet,” Harry says. “I think we can leave it like that. Let them dream. I like it. Feels like they have confidence in us.”

Louis smiles. “I think they do.” After a moment, he adds, “I do, too.”

“Me, too.”

~

Louis leans over to check that Ernie’s seatbelt is secure before putting his truck in drive. He’s been giving the two sets of twins a ride home from school since he’d started working in the same building a week ago.

“How was your day?” He asks the car at large.

“The cookie from Harry was the best part,” Daisy replies. “Phoebe agrees.” She kicks Phoebe in the shin. Phoebe kicks back without looking up from her phone, but she says, “Yeah, whatever.”

“He’s amazing.” Louis’d had one, too, and it’d proved much better than the frozen dessert that he’d been loading onto styrofoam trays in the school kitchen.

“Yeah? Amazing? At cooking and stuff?” Phoebe asks, looking up suddenly. “So good you’re going to marry him? Make him your wife? Cause that’s what some of the kids are saying.”

Louis blinks. Her voice has an edge to it that he doesn’t like. “Yep.”

He’d wanted to tell them about him and Harry even if his mother wouldn’t agree. He’d been meaning to check with her again to let her know he was going to tell them, whether she liked it or not. Now, he realizes that he probably should have done this sibling by sibling, with another cookie from Harry to ease the conversation.

But no part of his ‘coming out’ has gone according to any sort of plan. This will be, apparently, no different.

“Really?” Daisy asks, at the same time as Phoebe gives him the finger.

“Will you get to wear Lottie’s dress?” Asks Doris. “I want to wear Lottie’s princess dress.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Daisy says, “You’re serious, right? Did you propose to him or did he propose to you? Was it before he went to Chicago? Or after? Maybe you haven’t done it yet? Can I help you plan-”

“Oh my god, Dais. He’s joking. All the gay fanvids you watch have screwed up your head. I told you this would happen.”

Louis takes a breath. “I proposed to him. Before he left. At the Top of the World.”

Daisy falls back against the seat, a glazed look in her eyes, clearly impressed. “Wow.”

Phoebe reaches across Doris to pinch her. “He’s messing with you, you idiot.” To Louis, she says, “She really thinks you’re serious. She’s always quoting tumblr to me saying there are way more gay people in the world than we know about. Which, maybe, but I think we’d know if you were with Harry. You spent how many years with Eleanor? It’s wrong to mislabel people, Daisy, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Pansexuality is a thing,” Daisy retorts. “Did you buy Harry a ring?”

“Yeah, I got him a ring,” Louis answers. Harry’s continued to wear the ring on the chain around his neck, says he always gets batter in it when he keeps it on his finger. Louis thinks about how he’d held it one hand while pulling Harry off with his other before he’d left for work that morning.

“Wait,” Phoebe puts up both her palms. “Stop. Are you serious? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious,” Louis says.

“I _told you_.” Daisy pokes Phoebe in the thigh.

Phoebe rolls her eyes and returns to her phone. “It’s not like it’s a big deal. Lots of people are gay. Whatever.”

“I think it’s a big deal,” says Daisy. “I think it’s a _great_ big deal.”

“Is _Harry_ going to wear the princess dress?” Doris asks.

~

One Direction is headlining Horan’s first ever Open Mic Night. Unfortunately, Louis discovers that this does not mean that they are getting paid. In fact, what it means is that they’ve been rallied into coming to the bar an hour before the show to set-up the sound equipment.

Harry’s putting complimentary cookies (much smaller than the ones he sells) on each of the tables with a stack of flyers announcing the grand opening of the coffee shop next week. Everyone who brings one in during the first week gets a free coffee and pastry- this was part of the reason for the timing of the Open Mic Night. Harry’d said that the main thing he’d learned in Business School was _synergy_.

(When he’d shared this with them during rehearsal three nights back, Liam’d told him to _shut up shut up shut up._ Turns out he’d confused ‘synergy’ with ‘sodomy,’ an easy enough mistake to make, Louis supposes, with their shitty-ass educations.)

While he and Niall are fumbling around with the cords, Louis realizes that Liam has disappeared. Louis refuses to work if Liam isn’t working, so he scans the room. A knot a suspicion begins to form in his mind. He knows what this is about, probably.

It takes him a moment to find Liam, but eventually he spots him in the back of the restaurant, leaning up against the wall by the bathroom, talking on the phone.

If Sophia is making him cancel on them, Louis is going to break up with her himself. Liam’s been late to rehearsal, _later than Louis_ , all week. (To be fair, Louis’ been very close to on time, what with Harry feeding him dinner and giving him rides.) Needless to say, Louis is well beyond pissed at Sophia for stealing his friend away. Lately, over and over and over again.

Louis has worked himself up into a good rant about it by the time he reaches Liam.

“Yeah, man,” Liam is saying. “All the boys are here. We’re getting ready to start the show. It’s really not the same without you.”

Louis shakes his head. It’s not Sophia, he realizes. “Is that fucking _Zayn_? I thought his ass might be on its way from the airport so that he could see us perform tonight…”

He didn’t, really. Obviously. He’s given up all hope that Zayn will ever even return home for a visit. But that doesn’t stop him from ribbing Zayn about it. “Give me the phone, Liam. I have to tell him something.”

Liam hands Louis his phone, with a “Here’s Louis. Watch out, he’s being a dick.”

“My man, Zayn. Have you hit it big yet? Are you rolling in the dough?”

“Yes and yes,” Zayn lies. Well, probably lies. “What about you? Still doing shitty, half-assed paint jobs for Robin?”

“No way, bro,” Louis can honestly say, smugness dripping from his words. He’s willing to bet he’s come a lot farther than Zayn in the past few months. “I’m working at the school, thinking about taking some college courses online.”

“That’s awesome. What about the farm?”

Liam’s watching Louis closely and Louis wishes he wouldn’t. Covering the phone, he says, “Aren’t there more things for you to go set up?”

Liam frowns. “I’m like- You don’t- That’s my phone.”

Louis shakes his head. He understands being protective of your phone- he certainly is- but he doesn’t think Liam has gay porn stashed away on his so he’s not sure why he’s being so weird.

“The farm is cool. Harry wants to get goats and llamas, but I’m trying to convince him that it’s not worth the work,” Louis tries to sound casual. He wants to tell Zayn and about him and Harry without actually telling Zayn about him and Harry.

“Harry Styles who lives in Chicago with his many books and many boyfriends?” Zayn asks.

“Harry only has one boyfriend,” Louis says, voice pitching up. He hates that so many people just assume that Harry sleeps around. Harry doesn’t seem to mind; he plays up the image by walking around with his shirt unbuttoned and always fucking _implying_ things. However, they- the _assumptions_ \- bug the shit out of Louis.

As Harry’s one and only boyfriend.

No, as his _fiance._

“You?” Zayn asks. The succinctness of the statement surprises Louis. Apparently, Zayn knows more than he lets on.

“Me,” Louis replies.

Liam grins.

Zayn says, “Bro.”

“Yeah.”

Niall walks up to them, frowning, shaking his head, and pointing at his watch. He’s very time-conscious, their Niall.

“It’s Zayn,” Louis mouths.

“Oh!” Niall says, face lighting up. “Ask him about Gigi! Are they still a thing? I was reading that she was dating some hot new R&B up and comer on twitter. Does he know about that?”

Louis smirks.

But before he can fuck with Niall any more, Liam’s phone buzzes. Louis pulls it away from his ear to check the ID.

“Is it Soph?” Liam asks.

It is.

“You swore she was getting a babysitter,” Louis says, pressing ‘end’ on her call.

He knows that if he’d done that to Eleanor, he’d be reamed out. Hell, Harry probably wouldn’t like it much either, but Sophia does not respect Liam’s free time.

Liam’s pouting though and holding out his hand.

“What’s going on? Was that another call?” Zayn asks.

“It was just Sophia. Liam can call her back,” Louis says. “What’s up with you?”

Zayn chuckles. “So you got a job and a helluva girlfriend and I _finally_ got a real gig, but I think Liam’s got us both beat for news.”

“You got a gig?”

“Kind of. Just some back-up vocals, but for a pretty big artist,” Zayn says. “You’d better give the phone back to Liam or he’s going to be out on the street.”

“Congrats,” Louis cuts him off. He’s not giving the phone back just yet. Sophia needs to learn her lesson. “That’s great. What kind of record? Don’t tell me it’s for Drake.”

“It’s not for Drake, but please give the phone back to Liam before he pisses his pants. Pregnant women should not be left hanging.”

“Pregnant women?” Louis asks, confused.

“You said Sophia called.”

“Shit.”

Liam groans. “I told him not to say anything. It’s still early.”

“What the fuck are you telling Zayn for, but not me?” Louis asks, handing the phone back to Liam and ending Zayn’s call without even saying goodbye.

He loves babies. Liam _knows_ that. What the fuck.

“It’s still early. Zayn’s usually good with a secret,” Liam whines, Niall doesn’t look surprised to hear the news either.

Harry pops up beside them wrapping a hand around Louis’ wrist. “Hey guys.” He nods at Niall. “I thought you wanted us to run a sound check. Can we finish up whatever weird shit is going on back here and head up to the stage? Some of us have work to do.”

Had Harry known, too, and not told him?

“Liam’s pregnant,” Louis hisses.

“No fucking way,” Harry says, eyes bulging out. “I’ve _always_ wanted to be pregnant. How the fuck…”

“Sophia is the pregnant one, you idiot,” Louis says, pulling his arm free.

Harry grins at him. “Too bad. I mean, that’s great for you and Soph, but... ” He leaves the sentence hanging. He’s beaming at Liam.

“You guys _cannot_ tell your moms. Sophia is _not_ ready for people to know.” Liam isn’t looking at them. He’s jabbing at his phone, presumably calling Sophia.

“Can we have a baby, too?” Harry asks.

“Obviously, we’re going to have a baby,” Louis replies.

They look at each other and Louis knows his smile is as ridiculous as Harry’s. Probably more ridiculous.

“You two are too cute,” Niall says. He might be mocking them. He might be serious.

“You two are _gross_ ,” Liam mutters in reply.

Liam’s right, of course, but fuck if Louis cares. He’s happy and so is Harry.

~

Niall introduces the song with a long glance to Harry. “Eddie wrote this one. You see, he was in love with someone who he was convinced would never love him back, weren’t you, Eddie?”

Harry bites his lip and nods.

“So this song is a little bit- how do you kids say it these days?- angsty? Yeah, it’s angsty. But, I guess, it’s also hopeful. Which, things turned out well for you, in the end, didn’t they, Eddie?” Niall laughs, a little maniacally in Harry’s direction.

Harry straightens his jacket and frowns. Into his own mic, he says, “Yeah, they really, _really_ did.” He looks over at Louis. “I’ve discovered that the person I loved really does love me back after all.”

Louis’ mother cheers and Louis feels himself flush with embarrassment, except that her little shriek and clap, set the whole bar off. Cara and Kendall are home for the weekend and they brought a carload of people to the bar, as well. The place is packed and everyone is shouting for Harry and his love song.

The love song that he wrote for Louis.

Louis’ belly flutters as Niall strums the opening notes.

Harry begins to sing, looking straight at Louis. His voice is raspy and his eyes are intent.

Louis can’t look away. And for the first time under the hot stage lights, not even a small part of him wants to.

Most people don’t know, may not ever know, that the heated gaze they’re sharing is more than a silly act. Most people won’t think that they’re anything more than close friends who haven’t been able to find the right girl.

But some people know. Their families know. Their closest friends know. And they’re singing and clapping along.

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever felt this light with happiness, not even when Harry said _yes_ to his proposal. The music has something to do with it, sure, and so does Harry’s mirroring smile. But, more than what’s happening on stage, it’s the crowd; his _people_ , they’re so happy for them, _so proud_.

Louis feels proud, too.

~

Harry arrives at their table with two beers and a smile. He sets the Miller Light down in front of Louis, sliding into the seat beside him. Their families are all there, of course. Even Lottie’s driven into town for the evening, and Joe with her. The older twins, too, have been allowed into the bar to see their big brother perform. Gemma isn’t there, but she’d wished them luck over the phone beforehand and made her mom FaceTime her some of the show, poor connection and data fees be damned.

Louis feels the warmth of their affections, the excitement of the evening, pressing in all around him.

He can barely believe it.

Their families had known he was singing for Harry and they know that he and Harry will go home together tonight. Some of them even know that the ring glinting Harry’s finger is a symbol of their commitment to one another, of their hope for a forever together.

Louis’ mom has taken to sending him soft, teary smiles and patting Harry’s arm or shoulder or waist- whatever part of him she can reach.

She’s surprised Louis these last few weeks. After getting over her initial anger that he’d gone and told the girls about the engagement against her wishes, she’d had a heart to heart with Anne and then jumped in the deep end. He’d never expected her to be so willing to stand up for him _in this_ , but she’s officially joined PFLAG and has tried having several awkward conversations with him about when and how he figured out he liked men and whether or not she’s doing a good job of being supportive.

She is.

Dan, too, and the girls. Especially the girls. They ask for regular updates on Harry and insist that he’s the most fashionable and cool and funny person they’ve ever met, better than any of Louis’ previous girlfriends. They’re pestering him now, asking him if he has a moisturizing routine.

“A what?” Harry asks, but his dimple is popping and Louis can tell that he’s only feigning ignorance.

“Like fancy lotion to make your skin shiny and prevent wrinkles,” Daisy explains earnestly. She leans in to sip the pink fizzy drink in front of her. Louis _thinks_ it’s a Shirley Temple, but Niall poured it and he can get creative, so who knows.

“Are you calling me _old_?” Harry puts a hand to his mouth and his eyes go comically wide.

“He definitely uses moisturizer. I saw it in their bathroom,” Fizzy says, reaching across the table to steal a fry off Louis’ plate.

“When were you in our bathroom?” Louis asks. He’s thinking about the other things they stash in there- dildos, lube, condoms.

She shrugs. “I dunno, sometime this summer.” Her eyes narrow. “Unless _Louis_ is the one with the face routine.”

“Definitely him,” Harry says, leaning over to kiss Louis’ cheek. Louis’ heart flutters in his chest, It’s a harmless gesture, nothing Harry wouldn’t do to any of his pals. Maybe. Then, Harry adds, “It definitely pays off. He looks great, don’t you think?”

Louis groans, but also. It’s alright. Because Daisy and Fizzy are cracking up and Phoebe, glued to her phone, is also trying not to smile. His family loves Harry so much and that’s good. That’s the most important thing, really, at the end of the day.

His mom pops into the conversation to ask Phoebe to explain to Robin and Dan something about Snapchat, and the attention isn’t on Louis and Harry anymore.

In the booth behind them, Louis can hear Cara cackling. Last time he’d looked, she and Kendall were pressed in close together, a couple for everyone who wanted to see. They’re only here for a few days, to bring some of Harry’s stuff back and visit their families. That makes Louis feel surprisingly sad. He feels a closeness with them, now. They know what it’s like for him and Harry here in a way that no one else really does.

“I brought you something,” Harry whispers into his ear.

“What?” Louis asks. Buying him beer, writing him a song, charming his family- Harry’s already showered Louis in gifts tonight. It’s not even Louis’ birthday or their anniversary or anything like that.

Harry knocks Louis’ knee with the back of his hand and Louis looks underneath the table. Harry’s unwrapping a cookie. A big one.

“It’s chocolate chip,” Harry tells him.

“My favorite,” Louis replies, reaching into Harry’s lap to steal a bite.

Harry watches Louis’ mouth as he chews. “I know. I made this batch special, for you.”

Louis blows out a breath and hooks their ankles together.

They’re making it work. _They are_. For the long haul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sad louis, tired driving, pushing and shoving, falling into freezing cold water, nosy parents, sex with mirrors, AND A HAPPY ENDING !
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> (1) **‘I’ll Fly Away’ is dedicated to my love, L.** On top of losing me to my writing weekend after weekend for the last four and half months, he talked me through every character and every plot point. The AU into which I’ve dropped One Direction is very close to a universe he’s actually lived in. So this is also dedicated to his (amateur, parody) band and to their families and the lake community where they came of age. Most especially, this is for the LGBTQIA* kids who grew up beside him (esp esp his bandmate  <3 <3 <3 <3). 
> 
> (2) On that note, **Lake County is a fictional place** , (poorly sketched **map[here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B3CXEm1zeUl1dWR2Y0lCZHdSdTQ/view?usp=sharing)** , if you’re curious). That said, I discovered well into plotting out the fic that there is indeed a Lake County, MI and it is uncannily similar to the place that I have described. That is a coincidence, I swear. There is also a Lake County, IL, which, irony of ironies, contains many wealthy suburbs of Chicago. 
> 
> (3) I recognize that the characters deviate from the real life personas upon which they are based in some significant ways; first, they are from the United States and, second, **they are three years older**. Many other possible differences are up for debate. 
> 
> (4) A huge thank you to **Katie** whose cheerleading was encouraging and motivating and  <3 <3 <3 <3\. I feel so excited and confident to post because of her comments and texts and :) :) :). Thank you to **Seph** for her feedback and curiosity and beta-ing skills. And whalloping gigantic smack on the back of thanks to **Melanie** who, on top of being intensely tuned into grammar details, never hesitates to tell me when something I’ve written or plotted out does’t make sense or just plain sucks. 
> 
> (5) L made **the playlist** that accompanies this fic ([here](http://8tracks.com/juliusschmidt/i-ll-fly-away)). It is very rock and roll. Also, most of the ‘setting’ pics used in banners and so on are from his Instagram. 
> 
> (6) The fic is **titled for my favorite hymn**. It is not on the playlist because L had never heard it before despite being a music snob (tm) and it didn’t fit the small town vibe he had going. But I love it and it makes me so so so happy so I used it anyway and you can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGMXoWe2ztE). I may put up another playlist that includes it in the future. 
> 
> (7) I have about a million more meta thoughts about this fic and the themes dealt with in it. Don’t hesitate to comment with yours and if you’d like to chat back and forth, please message me (preferably not-anon) **on[tumblr ](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/ask)**. :)
> 
> (8) **The rebloggable tumblr post is[here](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/post/135568358090/ill-fly-away-by-juliusschmidt-harrylouis)**.


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